


Mars Assassins

by Daegaer



Series: Mars Assassins [1]
Category: Fix Bay'nets - George Manville Fenn, Weiß Kreuz
Genre: AU, Alternate History, American Civil War, Archaeology, Assassins, British Empire in Space, Brothers, Children, Crossover, Desert, Exploration, Family, Gay Victorian Assassins on Mars, Gay Victorian Soldiers on Mars, History, M/M, Martian animals, Martians, Psychics, Secret Societies, Soldiers, Teenagers, boarding schools, canals, lost cities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-02
Updated: 2006-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 60
Words: 217,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Cover art by Windfallwest.</p>
<p>
  <img/></p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cover art by Windfallwest.

_ _Virginia, 1862_ _

  
Two boys ran through the tall tobacco plants, laughing gaily at having won freedom from the day's round of tasks. The tasks the boys each faced were quite different, for one of them was the son of the man who owned the land through which they ran and the other the son of one of that man's house-slaves. Set apart from each other by the accidents of birth and the colours of their skin, the boys yet were friends, overcoming the iniquities of the world in which they lived by simple virtue of being but nine years old and both fond of games of running and climbing. For a year and a half they had lived under the new Confederate government, and for a year this new government had been at war with the Union government under which they had previously lived. This, and the terrible days soon coming to their own circumscribed world, meant nothing to the two boys, giving them only a new game to play when their parents and their work could be evaded.

"Bang!" cried the land-owner's son, raising a stick in the manner of a rifle. "I shot you, you damn Yankee! Go back to Boston!"

"You missed!" cried the other, aiming his own stick. "Bang! I shot _you_ , and _you're_ the Yankee!"

Laughing, they ran on, imagining in their boyish minds that they were surrounded by foes from whom they must protect the land. They dodged between trees in a small wood that was to them a deep and mysterious forest, pretending to shoot all the while. Soon they reached a favourite spot, where a massive tree overhung a softly running creek, and climbed agilely upwards to squat comfortably among the branches like small arborial creatures. They eagerly pulled out the food they had begged and stolen from the kitchen, and ate hungrily before lying back and, under the influence of the food - so much sweeter to them for being illicitly gained and eaten in the limbs of a tree - and the heat of the day, gazed sleepily up at the patterns of light and shade effected by the sunlight striking the leaves.

"I don't see any gain in all the study Mamma wants me to be subjected to," the land-owner's son said. "It quite rots the brain, I am sure. Mr Wheen says all the arithmetic will be just what I need when I'm running the estate, but I think he's just afraid he'll lose his job if they see how useless all his teaching is."

The other boy nodded solemnly, for they had a terrible feud against the tutor, whose insistence on the proper preparation of work every day had on several occasions robbed them of the opportunity for amusement.

"I don't need all this arithmetic and reading, Micah!" the boy cried, full of outrage at the injustices of the world. "He makes me read poetry! Like I'm some kind of girl!"

"It don't seem fair," said Micah, that being the other boy's name. He grinned up at the sunlit leaves. "'Course, maybe he's seen you wearing your Mamma's dresses, and that's why you get all that poetry."

"Why, you!"

Leaves and twigs were flung at each other, but the day was warm and they were still somewhat sleepy, and soon they reclined against the branches once more, giggling.

"Micah? Do you think the war will go on till I'm old enough to fight in it? Will you come with me and be my servant?"

Micah shrugged. "Sure, I mean I guess it'll go on till we've won. And you wouldn't go off without me, would you, Mr Bradley?"

"Of course not," said Bradley loyally. "I wouldn't leave you here when there's excitement to be had. You wait and see, we'll drive the Yankees out together. I'll be a captain, with a fine horse, and you'll be by my side."

"Will you give me a gun?" said Micah eagerly.

Bradley turned his head to look at his friend. "Yes, but you mustn't let anyone see," he said. "The other soldiers wouldn't understand. But you could use it to save my life when I'm surrounded by the enemy, and that'd be all right. Then they'd give us both medals."

The boys smiled at each other, thinking of honour and glory. Suddenly Bradley sat upright, clutching his head.

"Ah!" he ejaculated. " _Damn_ it!"

"If your Mamma hears you use that sort of language, it ain't you that'll get in trouble," Micah muttered. On more than one occasion he had been chastised by his own father for teaching, as Bradley's mother said, ungentlemanly speech to her son. He thought it rather unfair, as he was the one who learned it from Bradley. A look of worry crossed his face as he saw his young friend still covering his eyes as if the light were too much for them. "Bradley? Mr Bradley? Are you having one of your spells? Let's get down on the ground. I don't want you falling out of the tree."

Bradley looked at him dimly, as if seeing him from very far away. He shook his head, seeking, as it were to clear away the cobwebs from his mind. "Men," he said slowly. "Men are coming here."

Micah froze, looking at him intently. "Are you sure?" he asked at last.

Bradley looked at him, still lost it seemed in whatever strange mood had seized him, then his face cleared. "Yankees!" he gasped. "God damn it, Micah, we've got to get back to the house!" He dropped from the tree, followed by his friend, and took off through the wood at a run. Just before they came to the edge of the wood, some strange instinct caused Bradley to seize Micah and pull him aside, running now parallel to the tobacco field. At that very moment the man who, it seemed, had expected to lay hands on them as they ran past leapt out, his grasp missing the boys entirely. Fear lent them greater speed, and they did not even break stride as another man leapt for them, Bradley again helping Micah avoid disaster an instant before it could strike. They turned for the tobacco field again, for once in it they had every hope of losing their pursuers.

_Crack._

The rifle shot, aimed high as a warning, sounded nothing like the childish noises they had earlier made in play. The boys skidded to a stop for a split second, looking about wildly in fear. In that moment a third man stepped plainly into view, a nasty smile playing about his lips. Deliberately he touched the brim of his hat to them, as if he were a polite caller, then swiftly raised the rifle, aiming at Micah, and pulled the trigger. The bullet buried itself deep into the ground beyond where the terrified boy had been standing, Micah himself having been tugged aside violently by Bradley even as the rifle barrel swung up. The two boys fell to the earth from the force that Bradley had used, and sobbed with fear as the men gathered around them.

"You're the boy we came for, that's for certain," the man with the rifle said. He had a Yankee accent, but neither he nor his companions were dressed in the dark blue uniform of the Union army.

"God damned Yankee spies!" Bradley yelled as loud as he could, hoping to bring aid to himself and Micah, or at least to warn anyone within earshot.

"Save your efforts, boy," the man said. He turned his attention to Micah. "You're awful light-skinned. You must have a pretty Momma." He ignored the boy then and turned to Bradley once again. "Is that what he is, boy? Is he your bastard brother?"

Bradley stared at him, shaking. It came to him all at once that whatever they had in mind for him, they wanted him alive, but Micah was nothing but a witness to their crime, and just a slave witness at that. He saw, clear as if it was happening before his eyes, the rifle firing, then saw Micah's chest darken with blood and his lifeless form lie still. With the certainty he had never understood, but upon which he relied, he knew that Micah would have value to them if they thought he was a blood relation.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, he's my brother."

"Take them both," the man said coldly.

His companions seized the boys, and pressed cloths soaked in chloroform over their faces. Their weak struggles ceased, and they knew no more.

 

* * *

  
_Virginia, 1879_

  
The morning was already well under way when Mr Abinadab Oates took himself outside to stand on the porch of his fine house. The gardens shone in the morning light, a perfect testament to the labour lavished upon them by his gardeners. Beyond, his fields stretched away, full of the crops that kept him in a pleasant state of life. His lands were not, he thought, among the best examples of the old plantations. To be honest, he considered it to be but a moderately large farm when compared to the lands of some of his neighbours. However, it produced enough income to make his life very easy, even when he took into consideration the wages he was required to pay the workers, most of whom had lived on his lands all their lives as both slaves and free men. He was about to re-enter the house when he saw movement on the driveway, and paused. Four horsemen were coming towards him, at a slow walk. He waited till they came up to the house, looking down on them from the porch. They looked rather tired and dusty, and were a peculiar looking group, he thought. Slightly ahead of the others, a young man dressed in a black coat and trousers sat ramrod straight on his horse, his eyes slightly hidden behind small spectacles. To his left and right were younger men, the one on the left with bizarrely long red hair showing beneath his hat and parallel thin scars on his cheeks, the one on the right with an eye-patch covering his left eye, the scars crossing his face nowhere as neat as those on the red-haired man. Behind them all a child, a slight Oriental boy, sat perched on his horse seemingly taking no interest in the scene.

"If you've come for work, you can speak to my overseer," Oates said. He looked them up and down, noting the well-worn boots and the gun-belts worn by the three men. Their clothes and equipment had been good when new, but had see hard use. "Farm work's all I have to offer," he said.

"We're not here for work," the young man in front said, his accent local to the region. He touched the brim of his hat courteously. "I'm calling on Mr and Mrs Crawford. Might they be at home?"

Oates laughed in disbelief. "You're far behind the times, son. The Crawfords haven't lived here for years. If you want their current address you could try the churchyard."

The young man went very still. "I see," he said at last.

Oates saw his two armed companions move casually, so that their coats did not impede access to their revolvers in any way. He scowled at them, showing no fear. Like dogs, they'd back down before authority.

"I think you should get off my land now," he said.

"Do you?" the young man asked politely. "Sir, my name is Bradley Crawford, and I'd appreciate you taking the time to tell me how my parents died." He drew and cocked his revolver in a swift motion and, without looking, aimed to his side. "Bob," he said, "I don't want to shoot you, but unless you put that shotgun down you're not leaving me much choice."

Oates gaped at him. He had hardly seen the middle-aged house servant come up himself, and this young man who called himself a Crawford simply could not have done so from where he sat.

"Bob can tell you who I am," the man said, his gun still aimed perfectly. "You remember me, don't you, Bob? You remember how I said the flood was coming one year and the storehouse floors should be raised, you remember me making my father call the doctor for Micah when we were six, and how he got here just at the same time Micah got bitten by that snake." He turned to look at the man. "You remember how we both vanished one day when we were nine."

Bob put the shotgun down with shaky hands. "Mr Bradley?" he said in disbelief. "We all thought you were dead. We looked all over for you and Micah."

Oates watched the revolver being holstered again, and took a stealthy step backwards.

"No, no," said the red-haired man in some kind of foreign accent. "Don't go, Crawford will want to talk to you some more."

"I'm back from the dead," Crawford said. "What happened here, Bob?"

"Your Daddy, I mean, Mr Crawford was killed in the war, Mr Bradley," said Bob. "And Miz Crawford couldn't afford to run the place after. She had to sell up to Mr Oates here and move into town. She took her maid Mary with her, and then she died two years back, Mary came to tell us." He looked sadly at Crawford. "I'm sorry to be the one that has to tell you this, Mr Bradley." He paused. "I should call you Mr Crawford now your father's gone."

"It doesn't matter what you call me," Crawford said. "It doesn't change anything." He turned his attention back to Oates. "Mr Oates," he said, "you look like you're thinking that maybe you'll have a legal battle on your hands, well --"

"I bought this place fair and square," Oates said. "You needn't think you can come in here pretending to be a long-lost heir and take it away."

Crawford gave him a thin smile and pushed his little spectacles up his nose. "Nothing could be further from my mind, sir," he said. "First I'd have to prove I am who I say I am, when all around here must know the Crawfords' son was lost many years ago, and then I would have to fight your purchase of the land. And from what I understand, the courts would be less than charitable to the rights of a member of an old slave-holding family. I don't want the land, Mr Oates."

Oates breathed easier, and Crawford looked at him coldly. The red-haired man grinned.

"But it seems you're relieved, Mr Oates, that I haven't asked more about my mother. Bob, tell me what I should know."

The man stammered and looked down at his feet, then in great worry at his employer. "Miz Crawford owed a lot of money," he said, "she had to sell up, Mr Bradley, there wasn't anything else she could do."

"It's all right," Crawford said. "It's not your fault. To whom did she owe it?"

"Mr Oates," said Bob, looking away in worry as Oates glared at him.

"He had lawyers call on her every week and finally paid her a tenth what the land is worth when she was sick and desperate," the red-haired man said in malicious satisfaction.

"I see," said Crawford, still looking at Bob. "Bob," he said, "I don't blame you. Nothing bad will happen to you. You were right to stay on here, where you knew things." He looked back at his companions. "None of the slaves here are to be harmed."

"They're not slaves any more," Oates sneered.

Crawford nodded. "Thank you, sir, you are right to correct me." He raised his voice again. "None of the workers are to be harmed. They've done nothing but take advantage of the freedom offered to them, and I commend them for it." He smiled and leaned down towards Bob, continuing, "I saw no wrong in slavery as a boy, being foolish and young. I've learned a thing or two about servitude since that has opened my eyes." He sat up straight again, his revolver in his hand, and casually shot Oates between the eyes. "I hope, however," he said quietly, "that I never learn to cheat in the ungentlemanly way this Yankee bastard cheated my mother."

The red-haired man laughed as Bob flinched and shook. Crawford dismounted and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"I need money, and I'm regret to say I'm going to have to take it," he said. "You come along and show me where he keeps it. Don't worry, you tell the law about a gang of armed men forcing you to obey them, and you'll be fine."

"They'll never believe me, Mr Crawford," said Bob.

Crawford smiled with apparent real humour. "Why, Bob," he said. "Have you forgotten I can tell the future? Trust me. If you like, I'll have my associates here knock you out, though I don't think that should be necessary." He patted the man's shoulder absently and glanced about him. "It's strange how much smaller it all looks to me now. But I mustn't distract you from what you want to say. You ask the question you've been wanting to ask all along."

"Micah?" asked Bob, full of hope. "If you're alive, Mr Bradley --"

"I don't know," said Crawford quietly. "We were kept together for months, but we were separated after we reached Europe. I don't know what happened to him. I'm sorry."

Bob looked old all at once, his hopes of news of his son dashed. Crawford sighed and pushed him up the steps of the porch. Looking back at the others, who now dismounted, he said, "Small items and cash only. We'll be moving on, quick as we can."

"Do you want to burn it down?" the one-eyed man asked, looking in approval at the pocket watch he had taken from Oates' body, and then slipping it into his own pocket.

"No," Crawford said coldly, looking about at what had once been his whole and beloved world. "We don't have time to make sure it catches properly."


	2. Chapter 2

_Baden Baden, 1861_

 

  
"Josef!"

The small child laughed, and ran as fast as his plump little legs could carry him, across the hallway and into the sitting room. He knew quite well that he was not allowed in the sitting room unless visitors came to call, when he was to come in and say "hello" and then be taken away again by Nurse before the grown-ups could become tired of a child's company. For this reason the sitting room had become to his infant mind a place of mystery and wonder, and he never failed to illicitly enter it should he have the opportunity. At this time he squashed himself behind one of the armchairs and sat on the floor, giggling to himself. Nurse's heavy footsteps came into the room and he lay down, peeping out at her from under the chair so that he could see her shoes and the hem of her dress. Nurse was a big, round woman, and she breathed like a train when she was in a hurry or when she came up the stairs, or when she was annoyed. She was breathing like a train now.

"Josef! I know you're in here! Come out at once, you naughty boy!"

 _I'm no-ot he-re_ , he thought in a sing-song tone. _You ca-an't see me!_

She stamped around the room, looking behind the furniture. He rolled away behind the fire screen as she looked over the back of the chair behind which he had hidden, but she didn't see him. He was in his own estimation too quick for her, and he was, moreover, too old to be called for a bath before his tea-time. He hated the soap getting in his eyes, and she always pulled his hair when she combed it out afterwards. He rolled back behind the armchair as she stood in the middle of the room, muttering. Finally she stamped out, and closed the door behind her. Josef stuffed his hands into his mouth so he wouldn't laugh too loud, and thought that when she came back he might jump out and scare her. He would roar like a lion, or maybe a tiger to match his hair, and she would fall over in a faint.

He rocked back and forth, pulling on his babyish ringletted hair and thinking about lions and the story Nurse had read him, about the boy put in a lions' den by a bad king. The king wouldn't have done that to _him_ , he thought complacently, he was too clever. He would find out the king's plan and ask him not to do it, before anyone else tried to make the king change his mind. Upstairs his big sister, Klara, was playing with her dolls, and telling them a story about princesses. It wasn't a very interesting story, full of ball-gowns and handsome princes, so Josef went back to thinking about lions instead. In the kitchen Cook was planning the next day's shopping, and making sure that dinner would be ready on time. There would be steamed jam pudding for the children, and he cheered. He liked jam, and hoped it would be plum. Cook had more raspberry jam and wanted to use that, but Josef really wanted plum, and soon that was what she was making. Nurse was running now, up and down the back stairs, looking in cupboards and worrying that maybe he had slipped out into the street and would be run down by a horse and cart. She was trying not to cry, and was breathing more like a train than ever.

Josef frowned, thinking that it would be a bad thing if Nurse got in trouble with his mother. He remembered, if he thought hard enough, another Nurse who had been dismissed for not being able to control the children. Mother would get another one, and the new one might not breathe so loudly and might run faster. That would never do.

Reluctantly he came out from behind the chair and marched boldly out of the sitting room, dodging behind Nurse's broad back and running up the stairs. _Please don't hear me_ , he wished, and got all the way to the top safely. He slipped into the nursery and sat behind his sister, wondering how long it would take her to notice him this time. Sometimes it took what seemed to his impatient infant sensibilities like an eternity, but today he wanted people to think he'd been where he should be, so he invited himself to her doll's tea-party, and was able to smile innocently for Nurse when she finally came upstairs again.

 

* * *

 _Baden Baden, 1868_

  
Josef sat, quite bored with the history lesson, staring out the window at the leafless trees. The new history master, Herr Dorfmann, had a voice, it seemed to him, that was especially designed to make boys fall asleep, and behind him he knew that Dieter and Paul were already in danger of having their noses hit against their desks, their heads drooped so much. Perhaps it would snow later, he thought, planning with some glee the fine snowball fight he would be able to have. "Snow," he thought, glaring at the heavy clouded sky that looked quite full of promise. Alas, snow does not fall at the mere command of boys wishing to be free of their lessons, and the day remained drearily dry. At last the lesson ended and the boys were freed to go to their luncheon. Josef skipped gaily out of the room, smiling with boyish cheek at Herr Dorfmann, who looked upon him with some surprise, as if he had only at that moment registered the lad had been in the room at all.

"Isn't he _boring?_ " said Josef to his friends as they sat in their accustomed places, eating with all the enthusiasm young lads show, when they have been deprived of food for some four hours. "He is much worse than the other masters. This school must seek them out especially."

"Do be quiet," said Paul, looking in trepidation at the master sitting at the head of their table. "He'll hear, and then we will be in the most fearful trouble."

"Pffft," said Josef, who had endeavoured, so far, to advance year by year on his path as a schoolboy without yet being beaten even once. "He won't hear us, I promise." Indeed, the master seemed singularly uncaring of such loud childish insolence towards a member of the school's staff, his stern gaze which swept over the boys going somehow unfocused when it reached the corner in which the three friends sat.

After they had eaten, all the boys went outside to shiver in the cold and to play for some time before their lessons should recommence. The older boys kicked a ball about, while the younger thought of how they should use the space left to them by their elders, not wishing to court the wrath of the god-like taller youths. At first they proposed playing hide and seek, but this plan was roundly voted down, for Josef was somehow always the first to seek out his class mates, and always found them in short order, so that the hiders did not f

eel they had their full enjoyment of the game. At last they merely ran about shrieking in their shrill young boy voices until the bell summoned them inside once more.

By the end of the week it was snowing in earnest, and the boys, from the very smallest to those so tall and deep voiced they might almost be men, took advantage of it as often as they might be allowed. Snowballs flew through the air at every opportunity, and more than one of the masters looked round from an impudent attack to find the school grounds apparently empty of children but for the sound of hysterical muffled laughter coming from behind trees or around the corners of buildings. Only the most tyrannical of the masters attempted to seek out the perpetrators, for the Christmas break was coming and all knew that the excess energy of the boys must find release in some way, and better the undignified feeling of being hit by a snowball than risk them getting into more serious mischief. In any case, being young and feeling themselves at home in the snow, most of the boys could outrun the masters with less danger of falling humiliatingly upon their backs.

  
It was with great relief for both the masters and the boys that the morning soon dawned when the school would send back its charges to the care of their families, to be spoiled and cosseted throughout the Christmas season. Josef stood with the other boys of his year, chatting and waiting to get on the train. He wished with all his heart that the headmaster would finish speaking to the others and would bid them all _auf wiedersehen_ , so that they could reach their families and enjoy the warmth and pleasure of their own familiar surroundings. No sooner had this wish crossed his mind than the headmaster did exactly that, and the boys began to stream for their desired seats, the oldest of them showing no compunction in taking advantage of their superior weight and height to move the younger boys out of their way. Josef was swinging himself up into the carriage when a hand touched his shoulder and Herr Dorfmann's dry voice sounded in his ear.

"Might I have a swift word with you, Hahn?"

"Sir?" said Josef, as Dorfmann took his elbow and pulled him carefully back from the train.

"Let us walk ahead a little, Hahn," said Dorfmann. "I do not believe you will wish your friends to hear what I have to say about the report that shall go to your parents." He led Josef up the platform, his fingers uncomfortably tight about Josef's upper arm. With every step a feeling of wrongness grew in Josef, until it quite compassed him about. Herr Dorfmann had not seemed to him before so cold or hard, as if he had protected his intentions in careful armour. Josef did not resist the man's physical strength, thinking with all his might that he would be so ashamed to make his parents disappointed in him, and hoping that he might be able to lessen the damage. Dorfmann's rigid stance relaxed, and all at once Josef knew he intended nothing good for him, and that the hand that moved towards his pocket would withdraw from that same hiding place a hypodermic needle. Without a single second's pause, Josef flung himself forward, thinking to seek refuge with the headmaster, who had, he could see, walked far down the platform beyond the front of the train.

"Sir! Sir!" cried Josef frantically, knowing that his feelings had been correct as Dorfmann uttered no sound of surprise nor wasted breath on calling him to return, but instead ran after him as fast as he might. To Josef's alarm, although some of the boys still standing upon the platform turned as he sprinted past, their faces showed no curiosity, as if they did not quite know what they saw. He thought of how the masters did not seem to notice him, should he wish to be inconspicuous, and great fear overwhelmed him. "Paul!" he thought as he shot past his friend as that boy exited the station's convenience, "Paul, help!"

He found himself suddenly before the headmaster, who took out his pocket watch and checked the time with a slight frown creasing his brow. He paid no attention to Josef, as if he were not visible to the eye or audible to the ear, although Josef called out to him loudly and pulled at his arm. Looking about him, Josef saw to his surprise that Dorfmann seemed quite far behind, as if he had not exerted himself in running; as he prepared to flee once more, however, a great compulsion to stand still flowed over him, and he regained his senses only as Dorfmann grasped his arm once more.

"Foolish boy," said Dorfmann. "You will learn to pay closer attention in your lessons in future. Keep silent and come with me."

"Josef! What is the matter?" cried Paul, running up, his face confused and worried. "I heard you calling for me. Is something wrong? How on earth did you run down here so quickly?"

Behind their little group the headmaster made a sound of satisfaction as the train began to draw out of the station with its joyful young passengers. Looking at it in longing, Josef cried, "This man is no teacher, Paul, he means me some kind of harm!"

"Herr Dorffman?" said Paul in surprise, looking upon their mild mannered and soporifically voiced history master. "You don't, surely, sir?"

"I told you, Hahn, to keep silent," said Dorfmann. "I can see you will need to see there are consequences to disobedience." So saying, he dropped his hold on Josef's arm, and quick as a snake struck out, shoving Paul with great force from the platform onto the tracks as the train reached them. Paul's cry was drowned out by that of Josef and the cold laughter of Dorfmann as he dragged Josef to the edge of the platform and forced him to look down.

"No!" screamed Josef, "no! You vile --"

"Be quiet, boy," said Dorfmann. "You disobeyed and have been punished. You are guilty in this matter, not I."

"No," said Josef, crying unashamedly, "I'm not!"

All about them suddenly was a great commotion, with the headmaster and the station officials crying out and wondering what had caused this terrible thing. Josef heard, as if from a great distance, Dorfmann saying that he and Paul had been racing and that a boyish scuffle over who should be accorded the victory had gone so terribly wrong.

"I am sure Hahn did not mean this outcome to result from his thoughtlessness," said Dorfmann with satisfaction. "I will sit with him in the waiting room until the police come." He put a fatherly arm about Josef's shoulders and steered him away from the horrified crowd, heading not for the waiting room but for the nearest gate. Josef felt too shocked and terrified to resist further. No one watched them leave.

"Remember, boy," said Dorfmann. "The guilt in this is yours."

 

* * *

  
 _San Francisco, 1878_

  
Schuldig sat quietly, his face expressionless as he examined the hand of cards he had been dealt. He had been playing steadily for almost five hours, allowing himself to lose just enough money to keep the other players interested and to make it seem as if he were not cheating. He had allowed his winnings to build slowly into a respectable amount, enough, as he estimated, to allow himself and the others a few nights of rest and amusement before they left once more on their long and arduous journey. He looked up as the dealer asked if he wanted another card, and let himself look over to the side of the room, where Crawford sat at his ease, a hand laid upon the shoulder of the boy beside him.

"One card, ja," said Schuldig. The others' hands were weak, and none of them wanted to play on. They looked upon him with annoyance and disgust as he twirled a strand of his long hair absently between his fingers, but none of them wished to become involved in a dispute. With a boyish smile he laid down his cards and drew the winnings over to him, scooping them into his hat. With low mutters the other players went about their business, thinking nothing more of the game. They would, to a man, awaken early the next morning with a great feeling of confusion in their minds about how they could have acted so mildly towards a man so very clearly, in their estimation, a card-sharp; for the moment however, they merely dispersed and allowed their erstwhile participant in the game to go to the other side of the room and fling himself down on a battered couch, from where he examined the scene before him. The boy seemed calmer now, anchored as it were by Crawford's hand lying lightly on his shoulder. His nervousness seemed to have gone, a fact for which Schuldig gave most earnest and frequent thanks, as fear on the boy's part led inexorably to the destruction of material items all around him. Novelty, although it seemed wonderful to Schuldig, unsettled the boy's mind. "A good thing," thought Schuldig as he watched the boy close his eyes and lean against Crawford's side, "that he trusts Crawford so."

"What next?" asked Schuldig, stretching his legs out before him and looking with a critical eye upon the state of his boots. It would be most unusual, he thought, if they were allowed stay in one place long enough to have new boots made. However, there would be time to allow for a visit to a cobbler to have them re-soled, as he most certainly needed.

"We go to New York," said Crawford, a small thin smile upon his lips at the look Schuldig darted his way.

"We will, I hope, have time to rest," said Schuldig. "Look at this poor lad, how exhaustion has reduced him to a shadow of his former self." He gave the boy a cheeky grin, which met only with calm, blank eyes and a silent, closed mouth. "Are you sure he is worth taking with us?" said Schuldig, feeling affronted that his friendliness should meet with such indifference.

"Yes," said Crawford, stroking the boy's hair. "You are just settling in, aren't you, Nagi?"

"Yes," said the boy in his own tongue, after a noticeably long pause. "I'm tired."

"You must learn to speak English," said Crawford gently. "It will be useful to you." He smiled at Schuldig at the same moment the German opened his mouth to ask a question.

"Why are we --"

"To catch a ship."

"A ship?" echoed Schuldig. "To where?"

"England," said Crawford idly.

Schuldig groaned, saying, " _Gott_ , we have just come all this way from Japan, and now you will have us cross the country and take another ship all the way to Europe?"

"Yes," said Crawford. "We'll follow my own directions first. There is somewhere I wish to visit, over in the East."

"And what is so important that we must go to England?" asked Schuldig in tones of resignation.

Crawford's smile grew marginally wider, although any on-looker could have seen there was no amusement in his face. "We have another ship to catch from there."

"Ach," Schuldig said in disgust, " _Gott_."


	3. Chapter 3

_Dublin, 1866_

  
The fine, elegant buildings of Sackville Street looked grey and hunched over in the rain, as if they wanted nothing more than to go home and sit before a roaring fire with a hot cup of tea. Gentlemen handed ladies into hansom cabs to be taken away from the misery of the day, themselves fleeing the streets in a black-suited and hatted flood, until no one who looked to have money to spend was left. It was a cold day, and the rain made it that much colder, but the poor of the city had no such luxury as the wealthy, and made do with being drenched on their walk home, the shop girls holding tight to their hats as the wind picked up, knowing well their wages would not allow lost items to be easily replaced. The poorer yet trudged home too, to whatever meagre warmth and food they might find, clutching to themselves their threadbare dignity. Their children, exhausted by the cold and their work, were silent and thin, the bare legs and feet of the boys and girls blue and chilblained, shrinking from the fine, freezing stones of the streets. One such boy, seeing that no one more would buy a newspaper, carefully closed up his bag and took it back to the offices, hoping that perhaps this time the clerks would have some urgent work to which to attend, so that he might stand indoors for a little longer. He was in luck, for he'd said his prayers that morning, and had passed much of the day contemplating the mysteries of the Annunciation to the Blessed Virgin. In his mind she looked rather like his own mother, only with fewer lines upon her face, and the angel brought her a big bag of food as well as the news about the Baby, so she could have a party and have all the neighbours round. His own mother hadn't smiled much since the baby she'd had had coughed and coughed and died. The angel had pale, pale hair like his own, like the angels in his favourite church, and the Blessed Mother smiled to see him. He stood on tip-toe and peered over the tall wooden counter, wondering if he'd been forgotten. His feet had warmed up now, and he was thinking with great longing of the room where his family lived, and how his mother would have the bread for his tea already cut. He hadn't eaten since the morning, having given his piece of bread for lunch to an old woman sitting by the side of the road.

He could see no one, and sighed in childish frustration, letting go of the top of the counter and looking up instead at the ceiling, counting the little plaster leaves that ran about its edges. He wondered what it was like, to stand upon a ladder and make such pretty things, if the maker thought with pride that his work would be looked on every day. Pride was a sin, the Sister said, and he didn't think that anyone but him looked up at the little plaster leaves.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he muttered, rocking back and forth on his bare and filthy feet. He'd never get home at this rate. He closed his eyes and prayed to the Holy Mother and all the Saints that someone would remember he was there.

"Is that you, John?" a voice said, and he opened his eyes triumphantly.

"How are yeh, Mr Pierce?" he said, looking up at the sallow skinned young man watching him with bemusement.

"I'm very well, thank you," said Mr Pierce, grinning at him so that he looked much younger. "But it's late, John, have they not paid you yet?"

John shook his head solemnly. "They have not, and me standing here half the night."

Mr Pierce shook his head too, sharing in the sense of injustice. He'd been going home, John saw, his overcoat already on and his hat in his hand. "Well," he said, "we can't have that. You wait here and I'll see what I can do." He put his hat on the counter and went back through the door into the rooms beyond. John put a thin finger up to feel the felt of the hat, thinking it would be a nice warm thing to wear, then hurriedly put his hands behind his back as the door opened once again.

"Now, John," said Mr Pierce, handing over the boy's wages for the day, "here you are. Wait, wait, don't be running off so fast. Here, have a sweet." He held out a bag and John looked in, eagerly at the mint humbugs. Mr Pierce always ate sweets made with mint, for he said they helped when he had a pain in his stomach. John thought he must have a lot of pains, for he always had sweets enough to share. Sometimes he had peppermint creams, which were lovely, but John was glad to see it was boiled sweets this time because they lasted longer.

"Thank you, Mr Pierce," he said indistinctly around the sweet.

"Go on, take another for later."

John did so, looking up shyly, and saying, "Can I have one for my sister?"

"Go on, go on," laughed Mr Pierce.

"And one for my Mam and for my Da?"

"I'll tell you what," said Mr Pierce, taking a single sweet out of the bag, "you take the bag, and I'll just have this one. I'll get more on the way home." He ruffled John's white-blond hair and said. "Run along now, your mother will be wondering where you are."

"Thank you, Mr Pierce! See yeh tomorrow," cried John, taking the bag with glee and skipping gaily out the door. He put his cap back on and shivered as the wind and rain hit him again. Mr Pierce was a nice man. He felt very sorry for him that he'd go to Hell for all eternity, being a Protestant. He didn't feel so hungry, now that he had the bag of sweets safely in his pocket, and he crunched up the first mint humbug, then popped another two into his mouth. It would tide him over, and it was a good thing to discipline the body to hunger. The Sister said it was important to pray for people, and he thought that he would go into a church on his way home, and pray for Mr Pierce, that he'd see the error of his ways. With that decided he ran as fast as he could, dancing around a fat gentleman struggling with an umbrella that took off suddenly like a great black demon, unpleasant and bat-winged, and spun up in the air and away down to land in the filthy green water of the Liffey and swirl out to sea. John ran on, his feet slipping and skidding on the wet stones, past the fine banks and the college and up past the castle to arrive, his heart pounding and soaked through to the skin, at the large church he had aimed at, sitting fast between the two cathedrals the Protestants had. He threw open the door, pulled off his cap and marched in, up the aisle, a man on a mission, ignoring the glares of the aul' grannies looking at him like he was a drowned rat blown in by the night.

"Yeh won't keep me out of God's house," he muttered, "I've a man to pray for." He went straight to the front of the pews, kneeling to the altar then slipping into a seat, waiting expectantly. The sound of the Latin washed over him, familiar and foreign, the priest at the altar a man he didn't recognise, but whom he trusted to get it right. "Holy," the angels in the paintings sang, "Holy, holy, holy." John clasped his small, thin hands together tighter and tighter, praying for Mr Pierce to have a change of heart and for his own mother to be well and his father to find another job and for his sister to stop coughing. He stood to bless himself as the priest held up the Holy Gospels, shivering as the warmth from the church began to seep at last into him. He was feeling much warmer now, and the paintings began to look as they should, warm and bright in the gas light. The Holy Family fled into Egypt, their little donkey flicking his ears in alarm. The Romans hammered in the nails, telling rude jokes in English accents. The Saviour tripped, and Saint Veronica leaned in to help Him, her clean white cloth in her hand. "Agnes Dei," moaned the devil, "Qui tollit peccati mundi," said St Michael, running him through with his spear. The bell rang as the priest elevated the Host and the foundations of the doorposts shook. Although he was a full year from making his first Holy Communion, John found himself on his feet and standing first in the queue forming before the priest. The man didn't know him and did not ask if he was seven or not, holding out the Host with a soft hand.

"Corpus Christi," said the priest, placing it in his mouth. John swallowed, and the angels turned from their ceaseless flight and looked upon him with their eyes of fire.

"Amen," said John as the angels sang, "Holy, holy, holy," and all the people in the paintings watched him with their sad brown eyes. He went back to his seat and stayed kneeling, dizzy and elated, and gradually the sounds of song died away to a dull murmur. He closed his eyes for a moment, and opened them to find the church nearly empty. A hand was shaking him, and he looked up in bewilderment at the kind face framed by a wimple and veil.

"Sister Ruth," he said, and got up politely. "Are you well?"

"You shouldn't have done that," she said, smiling gently at him, "you're very bold." She put a hand on his forehead and a little worried frown crossed her face. "You're burning up, John. Let's get you home." So saying, she took his hand, a liberty John allowed only because of his reverence for her as a holy sister, for he felt himself quite too old to walk down the street having his hand held like a baby. Sister Ruth acted always like he was a baby, he thought, petting his face and holding his hand when she saw him, and even though he loved her dearly he felt at a disadvantage should she do it in the company of his friends. He walked with her now, quietly and peacefully, hearing the bells still in his head and feeling as if he could float away. "I have something to tell you, John," said Sister Ruth.

"What's that?"

"I'll wait till we're indoors," she said, holding his hand tighter. "You know I love you, my son."

Although he looked at her in some alarm at her tone of voice, she would say nothing more till they were standing in his family's room, when she went aside with his parents and whispered for some time. They looked very worried, and he fretted that she had told them about him taking Communion. He would make them see it was all right, he thought, then they would not look so worried. Sister Ruth turned to him at last and smiled at him nervously. John felt the air grow colder. She started to speak and the light grew dim. The sound of the bells was deafening, hurting him. "Holy, holy, holy," sang the angels in voices of fire and thunder and the whole building trembled. The darkness was thick and close and terrible things were all around. There was a flash of light glinting off a spear like lightning. His family, lying on the floor. Darkness. A flash of light. His sister wrapped up in the blue blanket Sister Ruth had given him. The blanket was red. Darkness. Light. Sister Ruth lying face down, her veil ripped from her cropped fair hair. Darkness. Light. His hands, red right up past the wrists. Darkness. Darkness.

Darkness.

  


* * *

  
 _San Francisco, 1878_

  
"I have had a dream," said Schuldig leaning back on the seat and glaring out from under the brim of his hat. "I think perhaps that I too am becoming an oracle, Crawford. Perhaps you can tell me what you think?"

Crawford's eyes flickered towards the conductor and back to the sullen expression on Schuldig's face. "I think," he said, "that it might be better in the next few minutes if you didn't speak in English. Or if you didn't speak."

"But it is an interesting dream," said Schuldig, who appeared now to be shaking with anger. "Everyone should have the chance to hear it, and we are the only people in this carriage who speak German. I feel we are being most unfair to these people who need some excitement to lighten their travel."

"Quiet," said Crawford, and handed their tickets to the conductor, taking them back with a polite murmur of thanks. "Speak, then," he said in German.

"My dream," said Schuldig poisonously in the same tongue, "my dream is this." He took a deep breath and shrieked, "That we might one day endeavour to leave a city more than one step ahead of being associated with the enormously suspicious corpses piling up in churches! Only one of us makes the mess, and yet we must all clear it away, and I am sick of it!" People turned to look, their faces shocked at such a display of uncouth behaviour.

"Is that your only complaint?" said Crawford. "No one associates us with any such event. There is no need to concern yourself with it."

"He cannot control himself," hissed Schuldig. "I told you he should be locked up at night."

The object of Schuldig's ire, the youth sitting opposite him, tipped his hat over his face and remarked in a bored tone, "I've never met a woman half as shrill as you, Schuldig."

"Sit," Crawford said sternly before Schuldig had even begun to move. "I will not have the two of you bickering all the way. Think of the impression you make upon others, if you cannot act properly for its own sake." Schuldig glared at him fiercely, turning then to stare out of the window. Crawford turned his attention on the other. "Do you hear me, Farfarello?"

"Yes," the voice came from beneath the hat, still bored. Crawford leaned over and lifted it off the young man's face, revealing white-blond hair and a scar that had taken a ruinous path across the ridge of the brow and over his left eye. The ruin of that eye was, thankfully, hidden from the world by an eye patch.

"Be more discreet," said Crawford. "Nothing in small towns, anywhere, ever. Never leave witnesses."

"That was only one time," said Farfarello absently. He sat up and turned his head to look at Crawford properly, adjusting the patch over his left eye to sit more properly. "I'll behave myself."

"Do so," said Crawford, changing the tongue in which he spoke to English once more, "or I shall change the arrangements, and have you and Schuldig share a sleeper car. It is a long way to the other side of the country." Neither Farfarello nor Schuldig said anything, and Crawford nodded approvingly. Feeling that perhaps some concession might be called for, to show them they had made the right choice, he said, "We'll have plenty of time in New York. We'll outfit ourselves completely, and get things as good as we can afford." As he had expected, Schuldig looked far happier, for the German loved looking his best and owning things that others envied.

The journey after that was dull, enlivened only by Nagi's language lessons, the lad achieving an enviable ease with English, such a new language to him, far faster than might have been expected. They took it in turns to drill him in the fine points of learning a new tongue, with the result that the lad had in the main a command of good clear English, supplemented, as it were, by swearing which he did mainly in a German accent, and discussing religious matters, which he did in an Irish one.

At night, Schuldig attempted to discover the reason for their trip to England, where the further ship would take them, but met only with blank refusal and carefully constructed walls about Crawford's mind. Farfarello, sharing with Nagi, found it even more difficult to get any information, shaking his head with irritation.

"Such a secret keeper," smiled Schuldig as they sat at breakfast. "You win, I will not snoop again. Just tell me one thing, Crawford. How much equipment and a ammunition should we buy for the trip to England?"

"As much as possible. It may have to last you a full year and I don't want any of us running short."

Schuldig grinned joyfully, like a child being offered a favourite sweet.


	4. Chapter 4

_Tokyo, 1877_

  
By the time the boy came to the orphanage, he had been living on the streets for some time. He did not know where he had originally come from, nor did he know how old he was, nor what had happened to his parents. All he knew was his name, which he told the priest in a thin whisper, saying, "Naoe Nagi." He quickly found that the children in the orphanage were just as hateful as the people on the streets, whispering behind his back saying he was cursed and trying to frighten him when the gaijin priests and nuns were not paying attention. He tried his hardest to ignore them, sitting by himself when they ate, working by himself at the tasks assigned to the children. He was a hard worker, when he knew what it was he was meant to be doing. The gaijin priests did not speak often to the children, leaving their day to day upbringing to the nuns, who spoke his tongue with a strange accent and said many words incorrectly. No one laughed at them, however, lest they be beaten. He liked the two Japanese nuns the best, for he did not have to strain to understand them, and they were not so outlandish to look upon. He had made the mistake of thinking them understandable only once, however, when he had asked one of them to pray to the Buddha for him. He had been beaten and given no food that day. Since then he had been very quiet, seeking, as it were, to vanish from their sight while still remaining within the walls of the orphanage. He sat quietly in the chapel, letting the sounds of the gaijin tongue roll over him, mimicking the actions of the other children, but having no idea what it meant. Nor did anyone think to tell him, as long as he knelt or stood at the right times.

Nagi found it easy to drift off in the chapel, when he was bored and everyone else was bored too. He could feel the sleepy younger children falling asleep with their eyes open, and the older ones fidgeting and wishing it would all finish so they could eat. It was dangerous to let himself do it, he knew, for if the other children were sad or angry he too would become sad or angry. While Nagi knew perfectly well what it was to be sad, not having been happy for some considerable time, he knew even better that he must never become angry. He remembered his mother saying so, and that she would not love him if he became angry and so he must always stay quiet instead. When he became angry he broke things, even though he did not mean to. At the thought of his mother he felt very sad indeed, and could not stop the feeling growing until the boy beside him started to snivel. In alarm, Nagi made himself stop feeling anything at all, for that was by far the better option, in his estimation. "Ah," he thought, "It would be better if I should never feel anything ever again. I will not do bad things if I can achieve that."

Accordingly, he drifted through the days, comfortable as if he had been wrapped in swathes of cloth, through which no sharp feelings might penetrate to his core. Things around him did not fall and break unexpectedly, and he seemed quite normal. As he became less interesting to the other children they began to ignore him, seeking out other, newer children to terrify. Nagi did his tasks, sat in chapel and gratefully ate the rice he was given, thinking that he must continue in this way and so never have to leave the orphanage. When asked, he professed his great faith in the mercy of the gaijin god as he had the previous winter professed faith in the glory and honour of the leader of the gang of boys in whose lair he had taken brief refuge, and the winter before had professed his faith in the mercy of the Buddha to the monks from whom he had begged for shelter and food. When the priests sprinkled water on his head and told him his name was now Peter he merely smiled shyly at them and made himself remember to answer to the name. He spoke as little as possible, and soon overheard the nuns wondering amongst themselves if he were simple. He had never shown the slightest aptitude for learning their tongue, and so they did not hesitate to speak of him using it, even should he be present. Nagi saw no reason to tell them that, although the sounds of their foreign speech were hard for him to produce, he understood at least some of the things they said. When he understood they thought there was little point in training him to enter a place where he would learn to be a priest himself, he was at first glad. He did not want to be taken away and be made to learn two gaijin languages, and to then come back and be laughed at like some of the children laughed at the Japanese nuns. When he had considered the matter further, however, he thought of how the priests were always well-dressed and well-fed, and how their rooms in the great stone built orphanage were always heated, while the dormitories for the children went cold, if there was not enough fuel that day. It came to him that being a priest would not, after all be so very bad, and he resolved to speak to the priests and tell them of how much he loved their god. He had, however, made this resolution too late.

The older children, when suitable positions could be found for them, were often placed in service with Christian families. Nagi had no thought of this for himself, as he had by now firmly decided on becoming a priest, and knew, moreover, that everyone considered him no more than a child. He was, therefore, quite unprepared to be among the boys called in to be ruthlessly tidied up and dressed in respectable, if somewhat worn, European clothing.

"There is an opportunity for one of you to make a good place for himself," said the nun who violently combed Nagi's hair before moving on to make a much bigger boy wince and try not to weep. "Be polite to the gentlemen. They are businessmen and will be in the country for some time."

"I'm too young," said Nagi, and gained for himself a second round of her attentions with the comb.

"It's a good position," she said kindly, "and one you would be able to do well in."

"I'm not a simpleton," he began, but was pushed into line and shooed out the door.

The boys were herded into one of the sitting rooms which the priests and nuns used to entertain visitors. Nagi had never been in it before, and thought he had never seen such ugly furniture. Sitting in the uncomfortable-looking chairs were two men, who stood respectfully as the nun shepherded the boys before them. She began speaking of the good qualities of the boys, and how hard working they all were. Nagi looked down at the floor, thinking that if he appeared simple in truth, the men would most certainly not consider him. He did not like the look of them, he thought. The very tall man with black hair and spectacles had a cold, hard air about him, and the other looked so freakish that Nagi couldn't even bear to glance at him. The other boys seemed fascinated by the colour and length of the man's hair, but Nagi shivered at the cruelty of his smile, and would not meet his eyes. Instead, he counted the ugly flowers woven into the ugly carpet, and listened to the mere sound of the English words as the boys were discussed. The men sounded regretful, and his hopes rose. He would go back to the other children, and be ignored for the rest of the day, as he preferred. He began to plan out how he should ask to be trained as a priest, and a hand came down hard on his shoulder. He jumped, and bit his lip as the vase of flowers on the ugly side table wobbled.

"We'll speak to this boy for a moment, if we could," the dark-haired man said, his hand firm on Nagi's shoulder. The nun smiled and took the other boys away without a word of protest. The man bent down a little to look closely into Nagi's face. "Hello," he said coolly in Japanese. "You are very good at hiding." He smiled, and Nagi's heart quailed, continuing, "but we're very good at finding things out."

"I won't be any good to you," said Nagi in worry, "the nuns will tell you that I'm simple."

"What's your name?" said the man, not letting go of his hold on Nagi's shoulder.

"Nagi," he said.

"Well, Nagi. Let me tell you something. This morning, I had a feeling that I'd find something important today. Then I had a feeling that I'd find it here. When I was talking to that little nun, I suddenly had a feeling I should ask about children with odd coloured eyes. She decided that I must be looking for some half-Japanese relative, and told me about you right away."

"Why would she think that?" asked Nagi in confusion, "I'm not a gaijin."

"Because I made her think it," said the other man with a nasty smile. "I can make people think whatever I want." He looked silently at Nagi, who heard the foreign-accented voice continue in his head, "You see? I can just get right inside your mind."

Nagi squirmed to get free, panicked beyond all sense. The vase on the table fell over then shot sideways at great speed and shattered on the door and Nagi cried out with horror and shame. The red haired man laughed with delight and said something in a tongue that Nagi did not know. The grip on his shoulder was painful, and he felt himself pulled into a tight embrace so that he could not struggle properly.

"Nagi," said the man, "listen to me. _Listen._ You're like us, you can do things other people can't. Schuldig knows what other people are thinking, I know things before they happen. That's how I knew to come here. You just moved something with your mind. That's wonderful, Nagi. It's wonderful."

"It's not," said Nagi, weeping as the fight went, all at once, out of him, "I break things. I break _people_." He leaned against the man, crying, and remembering what everyone had said must have been an earthquake. There had been nothing left of his home, nothing. "She was right not to love me," he wept. "She was right."

There was a quick exchange in the unknown foreign tongue above his head, and then the man said, "Don't think about it. It's over, it's going to be all right now. My name is Crawford, I'll look after you. You'll always have a place to live and enough to eat. You don't have to worry about anything. You come with us, and meet our other associate. You'll be fine."

Nagi felt strangely calm as his face was wiped with the man's fine white handkerchief, and he was led out the door. He watched Crawford write down an address and insist on leaving a donation for the orphanage. Nagi knew no one would come looking for him, that he had, in effect, been sold to the tall gaijin, still he could not find it within himself to care, as if something was holding down his misery and his desire to hide away from them all. He walked down the street between them, and never once thought about running away.

  


* * *

  
 _New York, 1879_

Nagi gaped in astonishment at the huge buildings, feeling himself quite dizzy as he looked upwards. Farfarello pointed up to where birds flew past the windows.

"Not even the birds can fly that high," he said with satisfaction. "Towers with their heads in the heavens, and there'll be higher ones yet, you mark my words. Let Him come and try to knock them down, they'll be built higher and higher."

"They're just buildings," said Schuldig in a bored voice. "I need new clothes. I will meet you all back at the hotel."

"Take Nagi," said Crawford, and both Schuldig and Nagi sighed.

"Ja, ja. Komm, Nagi," said Schuldig, marching off quickly as if he wanted to lose himself in the crowds. Nagi trotted at his side, wishing the German would remember that not everyone's legs were so long. Schuldig sped up for a few minutes, and sniggered as Nagi glowered at him; he turned aside suddenly, and Nagi followed him into the first of many, many shops. He did not find it very interesting to watch Schuldig picking out the cloth for new suits, or being measured, and was quite sure that the process was made as lengthy as possible simply to annoy him. He was more annoyed to have Schuldig involve him in the whole thing and have him measured for clothes as well.

"Stop complaining," said Schuldig in Japanese, "they wouldn't serve you unless I made them. It's why Crawford made me bring you along. Yes, yes make up two suits for him, one in the black, one in the brown, have them all delivered to the same hotel," he went on to answer a query of the tailor. "Komm," he said to Nagi, "next we have shoes to buy."

Nagi's spirit drooped even further when his feet were measured and samples of leather produced. Schuldig didn't want to leave that one at all, he could tell. It was with great relief that he followed Schuldig into what was revealed to be a little restaurant where the German proprietors produced cakes of varieties he could never have imagined. He ate his way steadily through large platefuls of cake, watched by Schuldig who grinned at him and ordered more.

"I wanted to talk to you," said Schuldig, and Nagi looked up suspiciously from the walnut cake he was devouring with as much gusto as if he had not already eaten apple strudel, coffee cake and something he could not pronounce made with so much cream he knew he would have a stomach ache later but that he had not been able to resist. "There is another reason Crawford wanted me to take you with me," said Schuldig seriously. "You do not like me, and you endanger the team because of it. In Japan you would always come to the aid of the others before me."

"That's not true," said Nagi in Japanese, ignoring the feeling of shame. "I don't have anything against you. And you always say you don't need any help."

"Well, so I don't," said Schuldig swiftly, "but it worries Crawford, to think you are so selfish, when he thought he could teach you to be a part of our team." He smiled cheerfully, continuing, "I know you do not want him to think that of you."

Nagi scowled at him. "You want to say that to him," he said in anger.

"No. I want to say something to _you_ ," said Schuldig, sitting back. "I have been with him now for just over five years, and you have been with us for little over a year. You will grant me, I hope, that I know him somewhat better than you. And what I want to say to you is that I know he wants you with us, and you should stop worrying about that. He will not change his mind."

"You said I should be left behind in Japan!" said Nagi, hurt bubbling up suddenly.

Schuldig shrugged. "You almost dropped me down a cliff. I was annoyed. I didn't mean it, and anyway Crawford would never have agreed. He will not choose either of us above the other. We are both in the team, Nagi."

"You said I should be sent away to Rosenkreuz," Nagi said sullenly, staring down at the table, his face burning.

"I _said_ I didn't know if we could give you the same training you'd receive there. You'd have far more control over your abilities if you'd been trained there," said Schuldig. His voice changed in a way Nagi couldn't identify. "I did _not_ say we ought to send you there. Come now, are we not both Crawford's friends? We will have another long journey ahead of us, let us not be at loggerheads with each other. Take my hand and let us at least act as team mates." So saying he held out a hand across the table. Nagi looked at him, then gingerly shook his hand, still finding the custom odd. Schuldig grinned broadly at him, his narrow, scarred cheeks creasing with amusement. "Good lad," he said. "Now - more coffee? No? Good, let us be off. We have more shopping to do." He laughed at Nagi's expression, saying, "No, but you will like this. Weapons and ammunition. Crawford will find work for us in this city, depend upon it."

He was right. The evening of their eighth day in the city saw Nagi standing in the deep shadows of a doorway, watching the rear windows and back door of a small, neat house, ready to stop anyone escaping, as he'd been told. The door flew open and a young woman in a maid's uniform dashed out. Nagi made her fall down before she could take more than five steps, and the cry of alarm she attempted became a surprised and softer noise. Farfarello came out the door in a sprint, and seized her arm, pulling her swiftly back inside and closing the door. Within a few minutes more, Crawford, Schuldig and Farfarello appeared, looking calm and law-abiding.

"Good work," said Crawford to Nagi, and then, viciously, "Our client needs to be taught a lesson. Nagi, the target was meant to be alone tonight. Pay his home a visit the night before we leave, Schuldig."

"With pleasure," said Schuldig. "Do I do more than talk?"

"No," said Crawford, "but talk with his wife and children. If he is very stupid about it, you may make a point." He turned his head to look down at Nagi, saying, "Never let the clients think they may have several tasks carried out for the price of one. Value your own worth and the quality of your work, and so will others."

When they stood, two weeks later, waiting to board the ship to England, Schuldig came strolling up to them, an innocent look on his face, and an evil glint in his eyes. He had gone out the previous evening and Nagi had not seen him since. He nodded to Crawford and winked at Nagi.

"I see I am in time for our delightful journey," he said. "How disappointing. I'd hoped to stay in New York just a little longer." He smiled mysteriously at Nagi when he wondered to himself what had been said to the client, and spent the rest of the time before they boarded speaking of how glad he was that all their new clothes and equipment had arrived safely.

Nagi said nothing, but privately agreed whole-heartedly. He gave Schuldig a proper, friendly smile and ran his fingers over the little derringer in his pocket, thinking with pleasure of Crawford telling Schuldig to select it carefully for him. His own gun. He felt fully one of them at last.


	5. Chapter 5

_London, 1871_

  
The day, as so many days in the English spring, was chill and damp, the precipitation not managing quite to reach the merit of being called rain, but remaining instead at a slow and steady drizzle throughout the morning that lowered both the spirit and the temperature. By the time the mid-morning break had arrived, the drizzle was lighter yet, falling in a chilly mist on to the young boys and girls who rushed into the walled school yards, the girls' yard being reserved for them and some of the smaller boys, while the elder boys, having reached the heights of their last years in the school rushed into the smaller yard, where their boisterous voices were soon upraised in an impromptu game of football centred on, for lack of any actual ball, a stone of a size large enough to be easily kicked around but not so large as to leave immediately visible scuffs upon their shoes for which a teacher or their own mothers might chastise them. The teams were imprecise and larger by far than the usually recommended number of players, for no boy wished to be excluded, and there was moreover only one goal, for, having broken a window in the school twice already that year, the boys had resolved that rather than risk the beatings again they would aim only towards the blank wall at the end of the yard. One of the boys in his last year dodged around his fellows nimbly and, with a triumphant smile upon his face, kicked the stone between the legs of the boy who had seized upon the position of goalkeeper and who stood bewildered between the two jackets serving as the markers for the goal.

"Garn, Bill," he said, "that was never a goal."

"It was!" cried the boy who had been jumping up and down with triumph. "It ain't my fault you was standing there dreaming. It was a goal, wasn't it, fellows?"

The other boys currently on his team cheered and averred that it was indeed a goal, and the goalkeeper had to turn his back for a moment so that no one would see him weep, for although these were indeed the oldest boys in the school they were still but small boys, being the children of that class of society only now enjoying the benefits of education that others had enjoyed for many years. Their own older brothers and sisters had not had the opportunities which life now provided them for a few short years, and for which their parents endured the hardship of surviving without the meagre but so welcomed pay a child might expect to supplement the family's income. These oldest of the boys, looked up to by the younger children, were no more than eleven years old, and would, when the school year was over, enter into the adult life of work and the constant need for gainful employment. At the moment, however, nothing was in their minds but the football game and soon they surged up and down the yard once more, shrieking in young high-pitched voices and laughing with boyish enthusiasm at their own silliness.

At last one of the eldest of the girls appeared in the entrance to the boys' yard, the large bell to summon the children to classes once more held firmly in both her hands. She rang it loudly and long, until the boys could no longer pretend they did not hear and trudged past her with dark glances or downcast faces, as each preferred. She rang it once more for good measure, sticking her tongue out at them, then turned smartly and marched back into the school, the regal set of her head and the stiffness of her back making the boys whisper that she thought herself one of the royal Princesses. With many a heartfelt sigh the children, both boys and girls settled into their desks again, and, on the instructions of the teacher, a Mr Grayson, opened their books and bent to the task of multiplying and dividing numbers by other numbers, the Herculean effort this involved being signified by yet more sighs and even some whimpers at the ridiculous results yielded in some cases. The braver of the children muttered to themselves of surreptitiously counted upon their fingers in an attempt to check their calculations, despite these activities being roundly denounced by Mr Grayson as unneeded by any child who was not in fact an imbecile. The mathematics class over at last, the children breathed sighs of reprieve and opened the geography books, dreaming over the lists of foreign peoples and principal exports of the far flung corners of the empire. Mr Grayson pointed out the lands about which they read on the great maps that hung on the walls of the school-room, the pink colour denoting the empire's extent a broad and proud swathe over the worlds. The children's hearts thrilled, and all of them imagined bright futures wherein they visited the exotic places about which they read, and became wealthy enough to ensure their parents never looked worried again.

Their thoughts about journeying across the seas or the ether, however, were cut short as the door opened precipitously and a great grown boy stood there, twisting his cap in his hands, reduced to childhood by seeing an adult in a position of authority over children.

"Please, sir," he said nervously, "I'm here to talk to Bill Gedge. I'm sorry to be a nuisance, sir."

"What is this about?" said Mr Grayson in surprise, his statements on the production of sugar falling from his mind.

"Sir, it's -- Bill!" cried the boy, seeing at last the child for whom he had been sent. "Bill, yer mum's sent me, it's yer Dad, Bill, I'm awful sorry!"

The boy, that lad who earlier had scored the goal in the game of football stood slowly, an expression of dread upon his face, then, displaying all the swift agility he had shown earlier in play he sprinted from his desk, evading Mr Grayson who made a clumsy attempt to grab for him, and took off out the door, the older boy a step behind.

"Gedge! Come back here this instant!" cried Mr Grayson, but they were already gone.

The boy ran through the streets, his thin legs carrying him quickly and easily, the cold of the day biting through his clothes, for he had not stopped to take either his jacket or his cap. He dodged about people and carts, the older boy behind him, unable to overtake him due to the frantic swiftness with which the younger boy ran. At last the little fellow skidded to a halt before a small house in a terrace of small houses, flinging open the door and rushing within, crying out, "Mum! Mum!" He faltered, seeing that the house was full of the women neighbours, some friends of his father's standing in embarrassed silence in a corner.

"Bill!" cried his mother, putting her arms about him, "you've got to be a brave boy, Bill. Yer poor Dad, he, he -" She fell silent, clinging to him desperately.

A man's hand came down on his shoulder, taking him from his mother's embrace. Bill turned about, his eyes wet with tears he still pretended there was no need to shed, to see his father's best friend, who, although the man was no relation, he called "uncle" from courtesy and affection.

"Uncle Alfie," he said, though he already knew the truth without it being said, "it ain't bad, is it? Is Dad sick?"

"Billy," said Uncle Alfie, as gentle as if he were a smaller boy than he in fact was, "there's nothing to be done. Yer dad jest fell down when we were working. He wasn't up a ladder and got dizzy or nothing, he jest went down, and he was gone. The gaffer had us let off to bring him home. You've got to be a big boy, now, Billy, and take care of yer mum."

Bill began to sob, the tears that he had struggled to hold in coursing freely down his little face, his whole frame shaking with the force of his weeping. His father's friend held him awkwardly, keeping back his own tears only through a sense of shame to be seen by the women crying like a child. As Bill cried, one of his mother's friends came up to him, holding in her hands soft clean cloths which she and the other women of the street would soon use to wash and prepare the body for laying out, in the usual manner by which the dead were granted a dignified appearance for their families and friends to remember them by. She looked down angrily at the weeping child, her face drawn with grief and the marks of poverty which all of them wore.

"Stop that crying!" she hissed. "Don't you see yer upsetting yer poor mother? You should be ashamed of yerself, being so selfish and making her sadder than she already is. You pull yerself together and remember yer the man of the family now."

With a last anguished hiccough, Bill gulped and at least was not crying loudly. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and looked up at her in pained misery.

"Here now, don't you think that's a bit much?" asked Uncle Alfie, "he's jest a child."

"Time for him to learn to be a man, then," she said, and walked off.

Bill wiped his eyes again, finding his tears had quite dried up. He didn't think he'd be able to allow himself to cry again for a long time, even though inside he felt broken and so terribly unhappy. The grown-ups were right. He couldn't be a child any longer.

  


* * *

  
 _London, 1879_

  
Bill Gedge stood awkwardly with the other new lads, trying to remember to stand up straight, look lively and keep stock still all at the same time. The uniform he'd been given was a bit too big, but it was nice and warm. At the moment, however, he was not thinking of the uniform, nor even of the plain but abundant food he had been given earlier in the day. At the moment, he was thinking that if the sergeant yelled at him again he might act like a great girl and cry in front of the other lads and so have his entire life ruined. One poor fellow had already been reduced to tears for moving to the right when the sergeant had told them to move to the left, and had cried again when he had been mocked later for it, making his life more difficult for himself. Luckily for Gedge, he was at the present moment the perfect model of a soldier on parade, his kit gleaming and his person presentable, and so the sergeant's fierce gaze swept over him with no more than the mildest glint of disapproval. Even when they were made to march back and forth, an exercise which gave the sergeant much opportunity to shout at them all until his voice grew hoarse, Gedge felt he acquitted himself with grace and dignity. At last the ordeal was over and the new recruits were dismissed to make their way indoors once more to seek out amusements for a brief space of time before they should receive their midday meal. Gedge felt very happy at the thought of regular and sufficient food and was relieved that the expense of feeding him was now taken on by the army. While he was in one way distressed to not be present to care for his mother's welfare in person, in another he felt a great sense of freedom to be a young man in the company of other young men in the Queen's army and, as he had arranged for half of his pay to be delivered to his mother every week, felt he was at least providing for her as a good son should.

Accordingly, it was with good humour that he looked about when he heard some of the others laughing at the poor lad, Wilson, who could not, as it seemed, tell his left from his right and had proved it over and over during the morning.

"Hey," said Gedge, "give over. We're all new here, we're all going to be making mistakes till we're used to it, ain't we?"

"There's making mistakes, Gedge, and there's being stupid," said the soldier who had been making sport of poor Wilson, who looked to be holding back his tears for the moment.

"Oh!" ejaculated Wilson, and his tears looked dangerously near spilling over.

"He ain't stupid, Hartwell," said Gedge, "are you, Wilson? Here, come over here a moment."

Wilson gladly left the company of Hartwell and the others who had mocked him, sitting with Gedge and the lads he had befriended. Gedge grinned at him and pulled out a packet of the cheap cigarettes he favoured.

"Here, have a smoke."

"Thanks," said Wilson, leaning forward as Gedge struck the match for him. "It ain't that I don't know my left from my right, I jest get mixed up at times, that's all," he said, his eyes still bright with tears.

"Don't you mind that Hartwell," said one of Gedge's new friends, a dark haired young man. "My name's Carr, or Fred, as you like. Yer Christian name's John, ain't it?"

"Yes," said Wilson, seeming more at ease now that it was apparent he had not been called over to be made fun of.

"Sid Davids," said the fourth of the young men seated together, taking one of Gedge's cigarettes for himself.

"And I'm Bill," said Gedge. "Fred's right, don't you pay no mind to that Hartwell fellow, he's got a nasty sense of humour, that one. You stick with us and he'll leave you alone. Of course," he continued, being an honest young man, "I can't say as we won't make fun of yer too, but at least yer welcome to do the same to us."

Wilson laughed at the cheeky expression on Gedge's face, and looked round at the others happily, feeling himself accepted and cheerful once more. The conversation quickly changed to the topics of most interest to the young men of the army, the provisions with which they were fed and the place in which they would eventually be stationed.

"I hope as we go to India," said Davids. "I want to see tigers and elephants out in the jungle, and save some Maharajah's daughter from them and get rubies as big as an egg as a reward." He grinned as the others all laughed, saying, "What? Don't yer think it's a good plan? How about you, then, Wilson?"

Wilson smiled shyly at them all, saying, "India'd be a fine place to see all right. Or Africa. I'd like to see some place warm."

"I'd like to see some dinner," said Fred. "Maybe I can get myself stationed in the kitchen."

Gedge leaned back in his chair, an expression of great longing on his face. "I want to go to Mars," he said softly. "I want to see New London and go fishing on one of them canals. That's what I want."

"Don't get yer hopes up," said Fred. "Africa's a lot more likely, I heard as there's some sort of trouble with the natives there."

"A man can dream, can't he?" said Gedge. "Anyway, they have to train us first. Any of you know whereabouts this training camp they're sending us to is, then?"

The others shrugged.

"Outside London," said Davids.

"First step to Mars, Bill," said Fred with a grin. "You've got to leave the city one way or another." The call to table then being given, the young men soon forgot their discussion in favour of filling their stomachs.

The next day saw them disembarking from a train, and staring in distrust at the countryside, the verdant colour and expanse of which seemed quite unnatural to them outside the confines of parks. No sooner had they carefully put away their meagre belongings than the shouting by non-commissioned officers started, and Gedge and his friends were herded into medical examinations, collecting more kit, putting that new kit away, drill and finally a service in which they gave thanks both that they had enlisted in the Army and that the day seemed at last to be over. Gedge felt very hopeful, even though his confidence had been shaken earlier in the day when the doctor had sighed in what seemed great distress over his physical condition before declaring him fit for duty.

"I wouldn't worry about it," said Fred quietly. "He was the same with me and told me to stand up straight before putting on a great show of sighing when I said as I was. They took us, they can hardly say we're too short now, can they?"

"I hope not, pard'ner," said Gedge, who was very fond of adventure stories about the Wild West. "It'd be a real shame if we didn't get to save Davids' Maharajah's daughter out there on Mars."

"You and your Mars," said Fred with a smile. "With our luck we'll find ourselves stuck doing office work back in London."

"Wilson won't," said Gedge, grinning, but lowering his voice so his friend wouldn't hear and be upset. "Have you seen the way he writes? He can do it like it's reflected in a mirror, says he doesn't know how he does it neither. His proper writing's not that much better."

"Yer making that up, Bill," said Fred.

"No! No, he showed me earlier. You wait, it's really something to see," said Gedge. "Wilson! Wilson, come here and show Fred what you showed me."

Wilson came over, and, having looked about to make sure that none of his erstwhile tormentors were about, produced a stub of a pencil and an old envelope, and, taking the pencil in his left hand, wrote upon it swiftly and easily, the odd swirls and loops of his script far more fluent and firm than when he wrote, slowly and laboriously, with his right hand.

"What's it say?" asked Fred in eager anticipation as Davids looked over Wilson's shoulder in interest.

"Have a look," said Wilson, holding out the paper. Fred seized it and they rushed off to the bathrooms, where he held it up before the shaving mirrors over the wash handbasins. Wilson smiled in pride as they exclaimed over what they saw reflected in perfectly formed and neat copperplate, "Privates Wilson, Carr, Gedge and Davids, heroes of Her Majesty's 404th Regiment of Fusiliers."


	6. Chapter 6

_Harrow, 1872_

  
"Ah!" ejaculated Roberts in delight, "I think you are getting better with each passing day, Bracy!"

"I say, do you really think so?" said the lad with whom he spoke, a tall fair haired youth, whose cheek blushed now at such praise from an older boy. "I mustn't stop my practice, however," he said modestly. "Please, bowl again." So saying he readied his cricket bat and watched his friend run towards him, bowling a difficult ball with perfect form straight at him.

 _Crack_ , went the sound of leather on willow, and the ball flew off in an unexpected direction, low and fast. Roberts looked at its course and laughed in joy.

"We'll give them a fine show, Bracy," he said happily, "I knew it was the right thing for me to persuade old Catherwood you should be on the first eleven! Where has that ball gone, I wonder? Do that in the match and the whole school will love you as much as I! Eton won't stand a chance!" So saying he flung an arm affectionately about the neck of his younger friend, and the two of them went off in search if their missing ball, thinking to continue their practice for some more time. The early morning sun gleamed upon their hair and shoulders as they laughingly searched about in the rough grass where the ball had landed, their heads, dark and fair, close together as they spied it at last and seized it up triumphantly. Then, being, as are all healthy young lads, eternally hungry, the two friends flung themselves down beneath a spreading tree and began to heartily consume the milk and bread they had begged from the kitchens the moment light had begun to break across the star filled sky. The kitchen maid's admonishment not to let it spoil their appetite for breakfast had caused no little merriment in their boyish hearts, for neither of them could remember a single meal they had not devoured and wished for more of. Not, that is to say, that the boys of the school were stinted in any way when it came to their sustenance, but their growing frames and the exercise demanded of them on the playing fields required what, it would seem to any full-grown man who had forgotten the days of his own youth and schooling, an enormous amount of food. Accordingly, it was with every intention of enjoying to the fullest their breakfast when the time came for it to be served, that the two young friends ate their bread and drank their milk, declaring that it tasted all the better for being consumed in the sunshine after the pleasant to and fro of their private cricket practice. Afterwards they lay back at their ease, watching the pale light of morning grow stronger and the day grow warmer. Roberts propped himself up against the rough bark of the bole of the tree, pulling Bracy back to rest against him, the growing heat of the early morning and their earlier exertions causing the pair of them to fall into a waking drowse.

"Rob," said Bracy after some time, turning his head to rest more comfortably upon Roberts' broad shoulder, "I say, Rob?"

"Mmm, what is it?" murmured Roberts, whose eyes had drifted closed.

"You won't forget me, when you've gone to the Royal Military College, will you?"

"Forget you?" cried Roberts, opening his eyes in surprise. "How could I, Bracy?" He smiled impishly, adding, "I shall look around and think, 'Why, what is missing? Oh yes, I do not have that Bracy chap dogging my every footstep.'"

"You blackguard!" cried Bracy, laughing, and poking a finger into his friend's ribs so that Roberts cried out in ticklish agony. "For my part I will be thinking, 'Life is so much easier here, now that that Roberts fellow and his horrid table manners do not offend me!'"

Laughing, the two boys rolled over and over in the grass, wrestling and tickling each other until they lay, worn out from their exertions, flat on their backs some yards from the tree and laughing weakly. Roberts put his hands comfortably behind his head, looking up ruminatively into the cloudless sky and thinking that his last term as a schoolboy was perfect, for he had every expectation that the cricket team would win every match and that he, and the other players, would be remembered as long as schoolboy memory lasted. That this could not extend past the time in which the youngest of the boys now attending the school became as old as he and left did not bother him in the slightest, for, being no more than a boy himself, a year was still to him an eternity. He shifted closer to Bracy, who had by this time seemed to fall back into a light sleep, and put an arm about his younger friend, drawing him close against his side. Bracy muttered sleepily, and sighed in happiness.

"I won't forget you, Edmund," said Roberts softly. "How can you even think such a thing, when we are such friends?" He brushed his lips lightly across the other lad's brow, pushing aside the tousled fair hair, and Bracy slowly blinked his eyes, awake again.

"I'm sorry," he said, "did you say something to me?"

"I was saying that you're a prime idiot if you think I could forget you, Bracy," said Roberts with a broad smile. "How could I forget such a fine sportsman as yourself? Why I really think you are the best cricketer this school has seen in years."

"I'm not so good as you," said Bracy loyally, for Roberts' skill with a ball or a bat was something he felt he could never match.

"You'll be the best in the school now," said Roberts, and a sudden pang of grief shot through him as the thought that he would be without the daily company of his friend came home to him fully. Bracy sighed, for the same grief shadowed his heart. Roberts tightened his arm, and forced himself to smile. "Look at us," he said, "moping like a pair of silly girls. Why, it is not as if we shall never see each other again, Bracy. I shall write to you and tell you everything you will need to know so that you will not be completely ignorant when you come to the college yourself. Let us hope Her Majesty's officers need less command of the tongues of the ancients than the masters here pretend, or we shall both be in trouble!"

Bracy laughed against his neck, saying, "I do not know why we cannot learn one of the Martian dialects rather than Latin. Are we likely to find ourselves in Rome of the Caesars, that we must be tortured so with Virgil?"

"We will lead a regiment up the Appian Way, defeat the legions and take the Eternal City in the name of Victoria!" cried Roberts, "Then we shall make everyone throughout history speak English, so that generations of schoolboys will call us blessed!" The young friends laughed together once more, the silliness of the idea cheering their youthful hearts immensely. With some reluctance, Roberts took his arm at last from about Bracy and pushed the younger boy into sitting upright, himself adopting a similar position. The morning was wearing on, and breakfast would soon begin to make its appearance before the boys of the school who, having not eaten since the night before, would fall upon it with fierce savagery, leaving none for boys who came in late. "We should go in and make ourselves presentable," said Roberts, jumping then to his feet. He extended a hand down to Bracy and pulled him up to stand beside him. "I am half-starved!"

"You ate as much as I," said Bracy mildly, and Roberts laughed.

"Why, I had to fight to rip even a single mouthful from your grasp! You youngsters don't understand what it is to respect your elders."

"You old men should refrain from over-eating, lest you become fat," said Bracy, bending to pick up the bat and ball, and skipping nimbly away from the mock blow aimed at him by a laughingly outraged Roberts, who chased him across the grass for some minutes.

"Bracy," he said at last, when they had both become tired of the chase, "you will still come to stay with me during the summer?"

"Of course!" cried Bracy gaily. "We will have a fine time, and you can try to drown me again."

"I am much better handling a pole now," said Roberts as the memory of the mishap of the previous summer made them both grin. "And I shall not believe you this time, if you say you have been bitten by a pike."

"You looked so pale and shocked," said Bracy cheerfully. "I suppose you were imagining having to write a letter to my mother, explaining I had but one leg."

"Bah! I was merely worried about the cricket team. Do let's go in, we can rush through the kitchens and get ourselves a snack to keep us going until breakfast - I really believe the grace gets longer every day. It's a wonder chaps don't faint before they get to 'Amen.'"

In full agreement, the two boys strolled arm in arm back across the grounds, happily content in each other's company and fully believing that their opponents that day, whether at the table or on the cricket field, could meet only with ignominious defeat.

  


* * *

  
 _Aldershot Military Camp, 1879_

  
Lieutenant Bracy, a newly-commissioned officer of the Queen's army, walked smartly between the huts built for the accommodation of the men of the line. It seemed to him that he was in less a camp than a small town, dedicated to the training and housing of a vast number of soldiers. All about him there was industrious bustle as men and non-commissioned officers went to and from about their business. He paused, looking about him in some confusion, having been sure that he was on the right path to reach the officers' houses, and yet seeing nothing familiar. Feeling rather foolish and experiencing a deep dread of sacrificing his dignity as a new officer in front of the men, he nevertheless bowed to necessity and, halting the next man who seemed to know where he was going, asked him with a pleasant smile which way he should take. The soldier seemed to see nothing odd in the request, pointing out the way and saluting him smartly before rushing off, back to his own tasks. Soon Bracy, following the directions faithfully, began to find himself in a familiar part of the camp once more, and began to see the officers' houses. He began to count down, thinking that one of these was surely where he had slept on the previous night.

As he walked along he heard a familiar voice call his name. "Bracy! Bracy, what a woolgatherer you are! I've been calling you for some time!"

Bracy turned, a cheerful smile upon his face to see Roberts behind him, resplendent in his uniform, and laughing. "Rob, old man!" he cried. "I had hoped to see you yesterday, but no one could tell me where you'd hidden yourself."

"A Roberts does not hide," said Roberts, striking an heroic pose. Then, in a more normal voice he said, "It's so good to see you, Bracy. At last I'll have some proper company, you have no idea how boring most of the fellows are. The chaps in our regiment are perfectly fine, but some of these others, well --" He let his voice trail off meaningfully, then seized Bracy's arm and towed him along. "Come along, come along," he cried, "you must see the absolute hovel where they've put us."

"Wait, Rob, I am sure that one there is where I'm meant to be staying," said Bracy, indicating a house opposite them.

"Oh, I had you put in with me," said Roberts carelessly, "I had them move all your belongings already, so you needn't worry about trying to hide your teddy bear from my sight. You didn't really want to be staying with fellows from other regiments, did you? And there's much more room with me, it will only be the two of us."

"Well, I can see you have it all arranged," said Bracy, letting himself be pulled along. He felt very glad to see his old friend again, for it had been several months since they had even exchanged letters, being like so many young men full of good intentions when it came to matters of correspondence but having less success in the execution of those intentions than in the planning. The house, when he saw it, was both small and plain but did not resemble the hovel Roberts claimed it was. He felt he could be comfortable enough, and it would in any case not be too long before they moved out.

"Well?" asked Roberts impatiently.

"Well what?" said Bracy.

"Have you heard the news? Where we'll be going when the new recruits have made up our numbers to our full strength?" said Roberts.

"No," said Bracy, "Colonel Graves merely greeted the other new officers and I, and wished us every success in our careers."

Roberts looked about him ostentatiously, as if he expected eavesdroppers to appear from behind the door. "Mars," he said in tones of deepest satisfaction.

"No, you are gulling me," said Bracy, a smile beginning to creep over his face. "I had thought it would be Africa for sure. Aren't the Dutch to be dealt with?"

"Not by us," said Roberts. "I have it from Colonel Graves himself, and perhaps I should not have told you, but I could not keep it to myself a moment longer, Bracy. Mars! Fame awaits us, my friend." He seized Bracy's arms in his hands, saying, "Can't you see it? We'll save the colonists from attack by the savage Martian hordes and be mentioned in dispatches. No doubt Her Majesty herself will discuss our exploits over the dinner table." He laughed at Bracy's expression, and continued, "To be serious, you can see this will be a great opportunity for us, can't you? Are you pleased?"

"Yes, of course I am, Rob," said Bracy. "It's just, well, it's so far away. It will take months to get there --"

"Ah!" ejaculated Roberts, "there is perhaps some young lady of whose existence you have not seen fit to inform me?"

"No, no, nothing like that, do not be so silly," said Bracy in annoyance, "it's just I had hoped to start my military career with more than months of enforced idleness."

"You will not be idle, that I can promise you," said Roberts. "First we have the new boys to whip into shape - have you seen them? How small and young they seem! Once they can pass for soldiers we will start on our voyage, and, so Colonel Graves has informed me, the younger officers will be expected to acquaint themselves with the Martian tongue. Yes, groan all you want, old chap, but it seems our school days are not yet done with. I'm not looking forward to it either." He embraced his old friend with delight once more, saying, "Oh, but it is good to have you with me again!"

The weeks passed more swiftly than Bracy could have thought possible, and by the end he felt he was no longer quite the total innocent he was now sure he had at first appeared. He found, to his pleasure, that he liked the men and that they for their part seemed to find him an agreeable officer, always saluting smartly and cheerfully when they encountered one another. The new lads who had enlisted in the regiment still looked very childish and young to him, but he was quite sure they would make splendid soldiers, and watched their drills and training exercises with real pleasure. The boys could run fast, and some of them had shown real skill in marksmanship, hitting targets at very difficult ranges.

"Good shot, lad, that was excellent," he said to one such boy, who looked up at him with shining eyes and saluted so smartly that Bracy had to restrain himself from smiling, lest the boy feel he was being mocked.

"Thank you, sir," said the lad breathlessly. "I have practice every day, sir."

"Good, good," said Bracy. "Well, carry on, lad."

"Yes, sir," cried the boy, saluting again as Bracy turned to go on his way, and then whispering quickly with his classmates.

Bracy smiled as behind him he could hear the instructor saying, with heavy wit, " _If_ we could have your attention back on your training for a minute or two, Gedge?" and the hasty apologies of the young private.

At last the training of the recruits was finished, and for all of the soldiers and officers of the regiment a brief period of leave was awarded, for it would be a very long time before any of them had a chance to see their families or homes again. Bracy sped to his home, spending some happy days with his family before bidding _au revoir_ to his parents and his brothers and sister and travelling once more to meet up with the regiment. With him travelled several trunks of belongings and items he hoped would prove useful or comforting on Mars, not the least of which were several pounds of chocolate that his little sister had saved up and bought him from her own money. While Bracy was not as fond of the dark, sweet stuff as she, he appreciated her kindness very much and promised her that he should not give it all away and should make it last as long as possible.

As his train grew nearer and nearer the station he felt more and more excited that he should travel such immense distances and see sights no one of his family had ever seen before, that so few people in the entire world had seen. He was very privileged to have the opportunity, he knew, and made a pact with himself that he should be the best soldier and the best man he could be, out there on his new world. No one, Englishman nor native, he thought, would ever have cause to complain of him. He smiled at how serious he had become, and thought of what he had thrust into his trunk at the last possible minute from pure, youthful whim. There was something, he thought, to keep his spirits up and to remind him that life had room in it also for frivolity, although it would not do to let Roberts find it too soon. His greying and battered teddy bear would have to remain hidden until they reached their destination on Mars.


	7. Chapter 7

_Schloß Rosenkreuz, 1874_

  
The two boys circled each other warily, the candle light glinting from the sabres in their hands. These duels weren't strictly forbidden by their instructors, but neither were they strictly allowed, and students found fighting faced strict and swift punishment. Students who appeared with bruised and bloody faces and bodies but no further or lasting damage were officially ignored. Students who damaged themselves or others excessively were made examples of. By the time students were in their late teens most of the boys, and not a few of the girls too, could expect to bear scars on their faces, for the wearing of masks was scorned by them as something only a coward might do. That was as far as duels were allowed to go, the swift strike out to draw blood and if possible to scar, not to kill, for the letting of first blood finished the fight. That was the unwritten rule to which the students adhered, if they had been left with any sense of propriety or self preservation.

This fight, like most others, took place in an abandoned room of the castle, this particular room being a favoured location for students intent on perpetrating violence of whatever kind on one another, being deep in the cellars, and totally isolated from the normal passage of life in the castle. The boys facing each other in the dim light looked at first to a casual observer, if any such person had ever walked the halls of Schloß Rosenkreuz, much as any boys in their teenage years might, with frames displaying energy and the evidence of the fast growth so common to boys of that age, whereby the height suddenly exceeds the build one might expect, giving no real hint of the manly form they might attain in but a few short years more. Closer observation, however, might lead the observer, should any observer indeed have existed, to quail before the fierce light in their eyes, or the cruelty of their smiles, or their unnatural silence as they watched each other for the slightest hint of weakness or an opening. Surely normal boys, our observer might have thought, could not hold swords without some childish glee breaking forth in their voices? Or could normal boys have been down in the cellars late at night to fight in the first place, with none of their friends for moral support? Or what normal boy, being alone with an enemy at sword point would, instead of giving him some manly challenge, merely occasionally smile scornfully or sort derisively as if in retort to some unheard insult, as these boys did?

The boys sprang at each other, their sabres ringing together loudly, then leapt back, disengaging and circling one another yet again. The taller of them, a youth with hair so dark a brown as to be accorded the term "black", had a longer reach, and seemed somewhat more at ease with his weapon. The shorter, although not by much, was a slight, red haired youth, who stalked around his enemy like a caged beast. Both were clad in what seemed to be old fashioned school uniforms of a decidedly martial air, and both had, it seemed been recently subjected to the attentions of a barber of equally old fashioned views on how a schoolboy should look, resulting in their hair being shorn close to their scalps. Without any warning, the red haired youth leapt in once more, his opponent barely bringing up his blade in time to deflect the savage blows. The taller boy then managed to drive his hilt into the other's face, splitting his lip and forcing him to back away.

"First blood, Schuldig," the dark haired lad said in tones of tight triumph.

Schuldig, for that was indeed what the red haired boy called himself, scowled and spat blood to one side.

"It doesn't count if it's not with the blade. You know that, Ärgerlich." Without another word he sprang forward again, driving home the attack with great ferocity and speed until his opponent's guard slipped at last and Schuldig's sabre flickered out, catching the other boy across the cheek, laying the flesh open to a deeper degree than the duels normally allowed.

"Ah!" cried the boy, dropping his sword and clutching at his face. " _Verdammtes Tier!_ Enough, Schuldig, you win. You win."

"Yes," said Schuldig, stepping up close, his sword still ready, "I do." He slashed out, cutting the other boy's legs deeply, and causing him to scream in agony. "Scream all you want," said Schuldig casually, kicking him in the ribs as he collapsed down to the floor. "It is a long way to where anyone can hear you, and I do not think you have the discipline at the moment to summon aid in any other way, do you?"

"You fool," cried Ärgerlich, tears of pain and rage in his dark eyes, "you'll pay for this and pay dearly. Don't you know I'm meant to be sent out? They'll beat you half to death."

Schuldig cleaned the blood off his sabre calmly, and shrugged. "I don't think so," he said. "If they do, they have no one to send on their mission, do they? Unless they want to send one of the weaker mind readers, but then it has been common knowledge for weeks that you were picked because of your strength. They passed me over only because of my youth, but now they have little choice. Enjoy your convalescence. I will think well of you when I am free of this place." He walked out the door, taking the candle with him.

He was dragged from his bed during the early hours of the morning of course. He'd hoped to get a little more sleep before Ärgerlich managed to drag himself through the corridors to summon help, but it was not to be. Schuldig curled himself into as tight a ball as he could, hoping that the blows would not cause too much damage before he could be heard.

"I'm the only choice for the mission!" he screamed, both aloud and directly into his attackers' minds. "You need a mind reader!" He dug within himself to find the strength to search out the knowledge he needed, even as a heavy boot connected with his side. "Herr Crawford specifically asked for a strong mind reader!" he cried, unsure at this point whether he spoke or not. When the blows stopped, he smiled a ghastly, blood tinged smile, feeling them think about this Herr Crawford, whom, it seemed, they considered highly favoured by the masters of Rosenkreuz. He felt hands pick him up and looked, dazed, into the face of one of the instructors who favoured Ärgerlich above all other students. None of them spoke as he was dragged down the corridors and flung at last into a bare room, where he was left lying on the cold stone floor. Schuldig groaned and clambered to his feet, staggering into a corner to lean against the walls for support. It was not, he reflected, the worst of the beatings he had ever received, but it was painful enough. He closed his eyes and felt himself begin to drift off, although he did not think the state into which he was entering could be called sleep. He fought to stay awake, and was aided in this endeavour by the door opening and two men entering the room. One was Herr Dorfmann, and Schuldig felt his usual dread and horror at the sight of the man. The other was a much younger man, very tall, with dark hair and light brown eyes guarded by spectacles. His cheeks were unscarred, but he had the air of one trained in Rosenkreuz about him.

"Herr Crawford, I presume?" said Schuldig, and laughed, catching his breath a little at the pain in his side.

"This is the fool who has cost me my mind reader?" asked Crawford, in a German that Schuldig thought flawless and accentless.

"I _am_ your mind reader," he said, and then bit his tongue in an effort not to cry out as Crawford strode across the room and punched him, his fist catching Schuldig hard against the bruise already left by an instructor's boot.

"Did I ask you to speak, you stupid boy?" asked Crawford softly, letting Schuldig fall against him, and putting his arms about him in support, as if they were friends. He looked back over his shoulder at Dorfmann, saying, "The other boy? If I delay my departure?"

Dorfmann shook his head, saying, "No. Ärgerlich will walk again, due to sheer luck on Schuldig's part, but it will be months before he is fit enough to send out. This young fool is the only other strong mind reader we have at the moment, unless you want a seven year old girl."

"I see," said Crawford, and put his mouth close to Schuldig's ear. "I am not pleased with you," he said in a low, even voice. "You should not cross me. Remember that."

"I am yours to do with as you will, Herr Crawford," said Schuldig, equally softly. "I will be better for your work than Ärgerlich could ever be."

"Stand up," said Crawford, and Schuldig did his best to obey, seeing only now how very angry this young Herr Crawford really was. Crawford stood back, watching him, and his eyes flickered, becoming, as it seemed unfocused, then staring closely back at Schuldig once more. "Well," said Crawford, "I'll take him."

"Schuldig has always been a strong-willed student," said Dorfmann coldly. "You will find discipline a problem at first, but once you break him you will find him tractable enough. He does not respond well to pain as an instrument of discipline, as you can see from the insolent smile on his face even now. My advice is to find something he loves, and destroy it. That will reach deep into him. _Auf Wiedersehen_ , Crawford. Schuldig, learn to be a good dog." So saying, Dorfmann turned upon his heel and walked out, leaving the boy and the young man alone.

"Can you walk?" asked Crawford.

"Yes," said Schuldig, through gritted teeth. "I'll walk as far as you want, as long as we start by walking out of this place." He tried not to laugh at Crawford's expression, saying, "Do you think me ungrateful, that I do not love them?" He stumbled, and Crawford's arms were about him again, more gently this time.

"Be more discreet," said Crawford softly into his ear. "Do you think they are not watching?" He drew Schuldig's arm about his neck, putting his own arm about the boy's waist. "Come then, let us begin walking, if you are so eager to get off. We will start by walking to the sanatorium where you can have your hurts attended to. Do not worry, we will leave as soon as we can."

"You're sure they won't stop me?" asked Schuldig, desperate that this Herr Crawford not leave without him. Crawford gave him a humourless smile.

"I know they won't. I can see the future, and I see us both far from Rosenkreuz."

"Oh," said Schuldig as he hobbled along. "You can see the future. That must be useful."

Crawford's laughter was surprisingly deep and genuine.

  


* * *

  
_London, 1879_

  
Schuldig, Farfarello and Nagi stayed with the luggage as Crawford arranged for them and their belongings to be taken aboard the boat train for London. To pass the time, Schuldig and Farfarello revised all possible swear words that Nagi could possibly need, the amusement of hearing him repeat obscenities in his polite quiet voice causing them to laugh with merriment until the respectable people around them looked askance at their little group. Nagi looked a lot better as he tried not to giggle along with them, and the colour in his cheeks was, for the first time in their whole journey from New York, a healthy pink. Just as he had been on the voyage from Japan to America, so he had, on this journey been sick all the way, refusing food and hanging miserably over the railings of the ship whenever the weather had permitted. Finally, when he had had nothing to void from his stomach for days, Crawford had confined him to his bed, and they had all taken it in turns to sit with him and coax the smallest amounts of very plain food and drink into his mouth. The lad looked slighter and younger than ever after the crossing, his eyes shadowed and huge in his thin, pale face.

At last Crawford came back, and porters began to move their luggage on to the train. They obediently followed Crawford, and seated themselves in a first class compartment, Nagi curling up beside Crawford and leaning against him, closing his eyes and almost at once drifting into a doze.

"I hope our next journey will not be for some time," said Schuldig. "I have no wish to be a nursemaid again, nor do I think it would be healthful for him."

"We will have time to allow him regain his strength," said Crawford, slipping an arm about the sleeping boy. "He will get better at this in time."

"Have you seen that, or are you as blindly optimistic as any man who makes excuses for his brat?" asked Farfarello, turning to look out the window.

"He will improve," said Crawford in a voice that brooked no disagreement. "What were _you_ like at his age, Farfarello?"

"Strong," said Farfarello, not looking away from the window. "You could still send him to Rosenkreuz. They'd forgive you, if he's really as useful as you say."

"No," said Crawford, watching Schuldig relax minutely. "We can manage him ourselves." He drew Nagi protectively closer to him, and sat back comfortably, sitting in silence most of the rest of the way, until the train was almost at the station, when he shook Nagi gently to arouse him. "Wake up, Nagi," he said. "It is time to get off."

"I'm awake," said Nagi, in a sleepy voice that seemed to say he was no such thing. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, peering out the window. "Is this London, Crawford?"

"Yes," said Crawford, standing up and shepherding them out into the corridor as the train drew in to the platform. "We will have to take you around so that you may see some of the great sights."

"By which you mean me?" sighed Schuldig, although his discontent seemed more for form's sake than genuine.

"By which I mean you, of course," smiled Crawford, and squeezed Nagi's shoulder. "I will be busy much of the time, but I will endeavour to go exploring with you should the opportunity present itself."

"You are much better at controlling people than when we met," said Schuldig in Crawford's mind as the boy looked up with solemn yet unmistakable pleasure. Crawford smiled pleasantly at them all, and got them off the train and sedately sitting together while he arranged for the luggage to be delivered to their new accommodation, a house he had been informed would be let in his name.

For the next several days they rested, enjoying regaining the use of their land legs, as the crew upon the ship had described the ease with which people were wont to walk on a solid surface that did not shift with the swell of the sea. To the obvious disgust of Nagi, Schuldig declared, after observing the young gentlemen of London, that the style of their new clothes marked them out indubitably as Americans of some sort and was thus too distinctive. To his further disgust, Crawford agreed, and authorised more clothes to be made.

"Can we not simply buy them from some shop that offers them ready made?" asked Nagi, who had seen an assistant in a shop offering that very thing to a customer earlier in the day. "Wouldn't that save time and perhaps expense?"

Schuldig looked at him with an expression upon his face that suggested he was far too polite to explain to Nagi how uncouth and terribly inexperienced he had just been, causing the lad to bristle with annoyance. Crawford intervened before the items on the table in the room had begun to do much more than quiver.

"It's important to blend in, Nagi," he said. "We can afford it, and we have time to spare. Patience, patience. Well -- Schuldig, you go alone. I will take Nagi with me tomorrow."

This compromise seemed to satisfy everyone and Schuldig headed for the door with a grin of triumph, only to be stopped by Crawford's call. "Wait", he said, as a thought struck him, "you can take Farfarello with you."

Identical looks of despair crossed Schuldig's and Farfarello's scarred faces, and they exited the room morosely together. Nagi looked up at the amused expression on Crawford's face and stifled a laugh, earning him a sternly raised eyebrow and an admonishingly up-lifted finger.

"Wait at least till they are out of earshot," said Crawford, allowing himself a smug smile. "Now, come and sit with me, and we shall practice your reading."

Needing no further encouragement, Nagi settled himself comfortably on the couch, Crawford retrieving a book and sitting beside him, spreading the book across Nagi's lap and putting an arm about him comfortably. The boy ran a finger slowly under the line he was reading, sounding out each word carefully, and taking correction placidly when his pronunciation was incorrect. It took almost twenty minutes to read two pages, by which time Nagi's voice sounded tired, and it was clear that he was despairing of ever improving. Accordingly, Crawford praised him, telling him that he was much better than previously and that his private practice was showing good results.

"This writer," said Nagi, "is he American like you?"

"No," said Crawford. "He was Italian. Do you remember the maps I showed you? He lived a long time ago. Our organisation claims him as a member."

"Was he?" asked Nagi, looking down at the book again, eagerly.

"I don't know," said Crawford. "Whether he was or not, he has good advice. The end justifies the means. Remember that - aim for your desired result and use any method you can to achieve it. Don't let yourself be bound by what society calls morality, for that is nothing but social convention, it does not truly exist. It is excellent advice, Nagi, and I want you to take it to heart." He smiled at the wide eyed boy, stroking his hair back from his face. It was excellent advice indeed, he thought, and only one of many such excellent pieces. He had been hasty in his younger days, and had bound others to obedience through fear, for it was, as Machiavelli had said, a swift method of gaining compliance. But love was better, and lasted longer, and he had followed that better advice of the Florentine's finally, and had a better team because of it. Fear had its place, he thought, but love's results were so much more rewarding. He indicated the book again and smiled to see Nagi's face light up with determination to impress him. "Let's go on," he said gently. "I like to hear you read."


	8. Chapter 8

_City of the Horizon of the Aten, 1875_

  
High up the wall of the cliffs a solitary figure dressed in a pale linen suit hung from an elaborate harness of ropes, patiently awaiting that moment when the rays of the rising sun would strike the rock face at just the right moment. Above, the sky was a deep indigo in colour, the stars still visible. In the East, however, the indigo was brightening to that lapis shade the ancients of the land had considered the very colour of the hair of their long forgotten gods, and then brightening further yet, the blue streaked with other glorious colours that soon would fade under the harsh eye of the sun until the whole sky would be barely more than white to the human eye. The figure regarded the beauties of the heavens stretched out before him with equanimity, for he had seen this sight before and, he assumed, would see it again from this very spot unless he could finish his task this morning. From above came a bored shout.

"Hey, Crawford! Have you thought I might cut the rope?"

Crawford grinned and kept his eyes on the sky. "Have you thought I have the only map of the way back?" he called loudly, laughing softly at the soft expletives that drifted down the cliff. He had no fear that Schuldig would do any such thing, for his visions had not showed him any danger past the ones that could be avoided through common sense and care. Accordingly, he had checked all the knots twice and assured himself that nothing had come loose either through accident or design. The boy would not cut the rope, he knew, but the idle threats served, it seemed, to keep him calm.

At last the sun drew to the necessary height in the sky, and its rays struck the cliff at an angle, illuminating the ancient marks carved thereon by the long dead hands of the workers. Those men, dust now these thousands of years, had hung suspended over the rock face even as Crawford now did, but in the full and merciless heat of the day, carving into the living stone of the cliff as the sun their despotic ruler worshipped beat down upon them like the whips of the overseer, striking their flesh with almost palpable blows of intense heat as they worked feverishly on, pausing only to wipe the sweat and the stone dust from their weary eyes. On and on those unfortunates had laboured, falling prey to the awful heat of the sun, enough to drive men mad in and of itself, or to injury, caused perchance by a tool slipping and driving deep into the workman's own flesh or that of his comrade, or to one of the myriad of foul creeping things that inhabited the waste places and are so deadly to man. Yet the supply of workmen had never ceased nor even dwindled, for their task was to them a holy one, sanctified by the dread wishes and command of their king, a living god to them, who had ordered the swift completion of this city far from the habitations of the elder gods of Egypt, a new place for his new faith.

Crawford did not concern himself with thoughts of those men, nor the short and hard lives they had led, instead bending once more to his task of copying the marks their copper chisels had made on the rock into the notebook he had borne with him down the cliff face. His hand was steady and sure as he sketched the faded carvings, the great design of the Sun God, its rays depicted as beneficent hands outstretched in blessings on the royal family, these same blessings being dispersed by the king and his fair sister-wife, for such was the abominable custom of the ancients of the place, to their subjects in the form of rich largesse. More important than this, however, he copied the writings, those intricate designs of creatures, men and objects that formed the style of script peculiar to the Egyptian scribes of the far distant past. He worked fast, for he saw that he was almost finished in his rendition of the text and, although he had schooled himself to become a patient man, was by nature as eager to finish any long and fastidious task as any other man who had so recently been but a boy. Even as he drew the final figure, the sun rose too high, and the marks on the wall faded back into obscure and dimly perceived grooves that the eye easily confused with natural cracks and crevices. Crawford sighed in satisfaction, for he was greatly weary of hanging over the valley floor, as he had done for the past several days. He carefully stowed the notebook about his person and looked upwards, calling out, "Schuldig! Pull me up!"

There was the usual pause, as if Schuldig wished him to think that this time the call would not be obeyed, and then, slowly and carefully the ropes were moving upwards, and Crawford bid _adieu_ to the cliff face he had come to know so well. When at last the cliff-top had been gained he took the hand Schuldig held out and climbed safely to solid ground, where he divested himself of the harness, and stretched the muscles that had become cramped from hours of inactivity. Schuldig busied himself tying off the rope and checking that the pulleys were secure and in good order, as he did every morning. Crawford looked out over the valley beneath with a sense of satisfaction, for now they could really get to work.

"I've finished," he said. "I'll work on the final translations today, and we should be able to start tomorrow."

"If your translations are correct, of course," said Schuldig in a neutral tone.

Crawford shrugged, saying, "If they are not, all it means is that you will be digging in the wrong place and must start over again." He smiled maliciously to see the lad's shoulders droop somewhat. Hard work and the threat thereof succeeded with Schuldig where outright force did not, exhaustion keeping him as placid as Crawford could reasonably expect. He had quickly learned that to Schuldig, being beaten was only a sign that the boy had succeeded in his attempts to be infuriating and drove him only to further acts of irritating defiance rather than cowing him for more than the time it took to regain his feet and put some distance between them. Taking Dorfmann's advice to heart, Crawford had noted the pleasure with which Schuldig had regarded his growing hair, and when it had become long enough, and Schuldig had grown insubordinate enough, he had held him down while the boy screamed in fury, and had shorn it back to the anonymous faint growth sported by the students of Schloß Rosenkreuz. They had both incurred numerous cuts and nicks from his razor in that struggle, but he outweighed Schuldig considerably and at last the boy had gone limp beneath him and had submitted later to the humiliating necessity of having what remained of his hair cut to the same length and made uniformly neat. The look of despair on Schuldig's face as he saw his reflection assured Crawford that he had found a means by which the boy could be controlled. No one wished to be reminded of their time in the castle. Now, however, he found such actions crude and of little use. Schuldig grumbled and complained, that was certain, but he also did what was asked of him and did it well. There was no need to discipline him and remind him that he was on a leash as long as he came willingly to heel.

The heat of the day increasing, the two of them sought the shelter of their tent, Schuldig throwing himself down on the bedrolls and lying still and silent, while Crawford sat cross-legged beside him, poring over the notebook and making rough translations into another book. At last, when the heat was making him too drowsy to continue, he divested himself of his jacket and lay beside Schuldig, who moved over to give him room.

"Did you water the camels?" asked Crawford.

"Yes," said Schuldig, sleepily. "Ugly great brutes. After this I hope I never have to so much as see one again."

"It must be disheartening, meeting a creature as stubborn as yourself," said Crawford, and closed his eyes, ignoring the mutter from beside him.

When he awoke it was late afternoon. He looked at the lengthening shadows beyond the tent flap and checked his pocket watch. They had slept most of the day, but that was what he had planned, for it was easier to move about in the early morning and the evening, and he would sit up into the coolness of the night, checking his translations. He sat up quietly, rubbing his eyes and plucking up his spectacles from where he had set them down. Schuldig was still asleep, his perspiration-drenched hair almost brown in colour. It had grown back to just below chin length already, and Crawford did not know how he could stand it in the heat. Well, he thought, it was Schuldig's own business if he wanted to hand Crawford a weapon and his own business if he wanted to look outlandish. He leant over the sleeping boy, noting how very young and innocent he seemed as he slumbered, just a boy who should be thinking about school and perhaps which college he might enter.

"Schuldig," he said, "wake up, it's getting late."

Schuldig frowned in his sleep, then came awake before Crawford could put his hand on him, a survival tactic of which Crawford approved.

"What is it?" said Schuldig, and he looked suspicious and no longer innocent.

"It's just time to wake up," said Crawford. "We should eat and go over our plans for the morning."

Schuldig sat up and carefully did not flinch as Crawford stroked the damp hair back from his face, then he rose and went outside to light the fire of thorn bush sticks he had collected while it was still dark that morning, putting some coffee on to boil. They took it in turns to cook, and had not yet decided who was worse. After their meal, Crawford continued with his translations, plotting out where they should start upon the morrow, as Schuldig went about carrying out the necessary tasks of seeing to the animals and making a start on collecting more brushwood for their fire. At last, when the chill of the evening had increased, for even in the hottest climes it grows chill in the night time desert, they retired once more to their bedrolls, this time disrobing and drawing the blankets about them.

Early the next morning they were aroused by the familiar sounds of the desert creeping into their dreams, and the mournful noises of the camels demanding attention. With a barely suppressed curse, Schuldig unwrapped himself from his blankets and started about his daily chores. Crawford rose likewise, dressing and using a little of their water for his morning shave. It was a vanity and an indulgence he knew, but it pleased him to make an effort to seem a civilised man, even here where they were alone. After a sparse breakfast of the cold remains of the previous night's dinner and some reheated coffee, even more vile in that state than when it had been first made, they unhobbled the camels and led them down the long and narrow path to the valley beneath, heading for the area which Crawford was sure they should examine. All day long, even during the heat of the day when they courted sunstroke, they cut away at the rock and rubble with pick axes, clearing at last an area that, Crawford was relieved to see, had obviously been worked at some point.

"It seems your translations were right," said Schuldig, breathing heavily and leaning upon his pick axe. "I shall never doubt you again, Herr Crawford," he went on in a heavily sarcastic tone.

Crawford ignored him and ran his hands over the stone before them, noting the carvings and the curses they proclaimed. The work he had undertaken over the last year had yielded results, he thought, all the months of research, of breaking in to the homes and libraries of scholars, of having Schuldig eavesdrop on those scholars' minds. It was his moment of vindication, of knowing that the trust their organisation had put in him was not misplaced. He ignored his aching muscles and picked up his tool once again. While the temptation to give in to haste and use the dynamite was strong, he must not damage the contents of the chamber. At his side Schuldig swallowed an oath and bent to the work as well. After another hour they broke through, and foetid air rushed out at them, making them cough and splutter.

Crawford and Schuldig looked at each other, grinning. They were both filthy and exhausted, and neither had felt so wonderful in years. After a moment, Crawford seized up candles from his pack and lit them, handing one to Schuldig and then, without a moment's further pause, ducking inside the revealed chamber. He stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the light and felt Schuldig come up behind him.

" _Mein Gott_ ," said Schuldig, and for once the words did not sound like blasphemy, " _Gott in Himmel._ We're _rich_ , Crawford."

Crawford looked at the dull gleam of gold all about them, his breath coming shallowly and fast. Piled up carelessly, as if the builders had simply flung items of worth into the chamber, were all manner of precious items. "Look," he said, indicating the chariot inlaid with gold and lapis lazuli, disassembled and stacked against the wall. "Who says you can't take it with you?" He stepped cautiously across the floor, his every step touching wealth beyond a man's wildest imaginings, his eye drawn by deeper darkness beyond. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, "This isn't what we've come for, Schuldig."

"But it's what we should leave with," said Schuldig, lifting a necklace of golden bees and admiring it in the flickering candlelight. "Don't you want to be a rich man?"

"I want to be a living man," said Crawford, "come on." Without another word he stepped into the next chamber, and stopped dead, a moan of pleasure coming from him. There, on the wall was what he wanted, what he had been sent to find. Ignoring the fabulous wealth strewn about, he brought the candle close to the painted wall and began to read, slowly and carefully. As he thought, it was nonsense, a code of some sort. "Schuldig!" he called, "come in here, and bring more candles."

All that night he sketched and transcribed, Schuldig leaning close with the candles to light his work. It was morning once more before he had finished, and Crawford stretched, feeling his muscles shriek in agony. Schuldig looked exhausted, and Crawford knew he could look no better.

"What now?" asked Schuldig hoarsely. "Can we leave this country at last?"

"Not yet," said Crawford. "We must find the key. You take that side of the chamber, bring me anything with writing upon it."

Hours passed, and finally they had looked though everything. Crawford turned to what he knew he should have started with, but from some half-forgotten sense of decency had left out of respect. The massive sarcophagus was of plain stone, hiding the treasures that surely lay within. With a word he sent Schuldig outside to fetch the tools, and soon they had bent to the work of levering away the huge coffin-lid. With a crash it fell to the ground, crushing objects of inestimable wealth beneath its enormous weight. Inside was revealed another coffin, this time of delicate construction and fabulously beautiful decoration in blues and reds, a golden sun disk with wings stretching from side to side. This too they levered away to reveal the third coffin within. Crawford looked upon the artistically rendered features, the thin aristocratic nose and mouth and felt all at once no more than a grave robber. "No matter what the world might call me," he thought grimly, "it is but an illusion. We are what we make of ourselves, and I will make myself great. When our people rule, then no one will say we have done wrong." So thinking, he lifted off the cover with his own hands to reveal the corruption beneath. The corpse wrappings were as white and fresh, it seemed to his exhausted eyes, as the day on which they first encircled the body. Strange lumps and bulges displayed to him the location of amulets, no doubt made of the finest gold and precious stones, but these were of no interest to him. Between the time-darkened and emaciated hands lay a disc of gold, inlaid on a plaque of ivory. That this was the representation of the royal heretic's deity there was no doubt, for the disk was featureless save for the rays ending in hands outstretched in blessing. Crawford looked closely at it. All about the ivory, hieroglyphs were carved in tiny and exquisite detail, and, as he looked closer yet, he saw that two of the sun's rays were slightly longer than their fellows.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty," he murmured, taking the precious item up into his own hands. To his delight, the sun disk turned upon its ivory plaque, and as it did so, the longer rays indicated differing symbols. Bringing it to the wall, he read, symbol by symbol the first words and laughed aloud in purest delight. "We have it!" he cried, "We have it, Schuldig!"

"At last," said Schuldig. "Let us go, Crawford, I am weary of standing in a tomb."

They picked their way to the outer chamber once more, and Schuldig paused, saying, "Can we not take some of it?"

"Why not?" said Crawford, in whom relief and joy had extinguished any sense of respectfully leaving the long dead monarch in as much state as they could. "Antiquarians will pay highly for any of this, and we can always simply melt it down. Be quick, however, and take only easily portable things."

They filled their pockets and their packs, and came out into the fresh air once more, laughing and clapping one another on the back, like friends who have just carried out the most perfect of pranks. Having loaded the camels, they came back and set the dynamite about the tomb, working quickly and easily with that deadly material. Then, having lit the fuses, they walked away without a second glance, trusting to their training that the task would be accomplished. Behind them there was a mighty roar as the explosion took down the rocks all about the tomb, and looking back, they saw that the shape of the cliffs had changed and the chambers were lost to the sight of man forever.

"Farewell, Your Majesty," said Crawford, touching the brim of his hat.

"And thank you," said Schuldig, grinning.

It was when they had finally, bone tired and filthier than they had ever been before, reached the shelter of their camp once more that disaster struck. Flinging his pack down carelessly, Schuldig tore off his boots and threw himself down on their rough bed with a deep sigh, and Crawford flinched with the premonition of danger.

"Ah!" ejaculated Schuldig, springing up once more, "Crawford! A snake!"

Crawford had spun round even before the boy's panicked cry, his revolver already in his hand. Without thinking he fired at the serpent as it slithered away, and watched it twitch and die. He bent to pick it up, and saw at once it was an asp, that same venomous serpent by whose poison the fabled last Queen of Egypt had chosen to die rather than risk humiliation by the Roman mob. He turned to Schuldig and saw the boy was pale of face with fear.

"Did it bite you?" he demanded, "Did it bite you?"

"Ja," whispered Schuldig, "ja." He rolled up his trouser leg a little, and Crawford saw the puncture wound, the streaks of red already spreading outward from it. He pushed the shocked Schuldig down on the blankets and took the injured leg up onto his lap, pulling out a sharp knife. "Does that really work?" said Schuldig, plucking his intent from his mind.

"You might pray so," said Crawford and without further word he cut deeply over the wound and placed his mouth thereon, sucking out a mouthful of blood and, as he hoped, venom, and spitting to the side. Time and again he bent to this horrid task, at last knowing he could do no more. He was no doctor, and though he was trained to give first help, could not go further in his aid to the boy. Pouring some of their brandy upon the wound to cleanse it, he bound it up in bandages, trying not to think of the dead king in his grave wrappings as he did so.

"You've got to get me to a doctor," said Schuldig, sounding as if he were controlling himself with difficulty.

"How?" said Crawford, "we are days from help. You might die on the way."

"I'm going to die," whispered Schuldig. "A curse from that tomb, no doubt." His attempt at a jest was flat and humourless, and he turned his face away so that Crawford could not see his weakness.

"You won't die. I'm sure I got enough of the venom," said Crawford, putting conviction into his voice and imagining the walls protecting his mind as tall and strong. Schuldig's narrow shoulders shook with what he thought was weeping, then he realised the boy was laughing bitterly.

"A man who tells the truth does not shield his thoughts so," said Schuldig, and turned to face him. "If I must die, why can you not at least let me read your mind?"

"Lie still," said Crawford. "If there is still venom in you, moving about will only hasten its effects. I think it better if you eat sparingly tonight. I will cook."

"The condemned man would like Apfel Strudel," said Schuldig.

"Will you settle for rice and dried meat?" asked Crawford, and felt dismay as Schuldig's face crumpled and the boy turned away again. He made their meal and watched Schuldig eat a little, then lie still once more. The boy's eyes were bright, and his skin felt clammy to the touch. Crawford sponged his face down and helped him out of his disgustingly filthy clothing, covering him over with the blankets and lying, in complete exhaustion, by his side. He awoke in deepest darkness, crying out to he knew not who, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" After a moment of disorientation he heard Schuldig whimpering the same thing in German, and, feeling the boy's forehead, was alarmed at how fiercely his temperature burned. He arose and fetched a canteen of water from their supply, coming back at once. Schuldig pushed feebly at the blankets, still apologising to an unseen interlocutor and turning his head away peevishly when Crawford attempted to give him water.

"I'm sorry," he wept, and Crawford fought the compulsion to say the words with him.

"What are you sorry for, Schuldig?" he asked gently, but there was no reply, just the same words, over and over. He frowned as the boy threw off the blankets again, exposing himself to the chill night air that turned his perspiration cold upon his fevered body, and thrashing about in a way that would surely only exacerbate the effects of the venom. Crawford pulled the blankets off completely to straighten them out somewhat, and then lay beside the boy, smoothing the blankets over them both and taking Schuldig in a strong embrace, holding his arms still and not letting him writhe so. The lad came momentarily, it seemed, to his senses and fought briefly and desperately, but Crawford bore him down with his greater weight and held him firmly, whispering to him all the time that he was safe and must lie quietly. At last Schuldig lay quiet and hot in his arms, his feeble attempts at escape availing him nothing, and his breath becoming shallower and shallower. Crawford tightened his embrace in desperation, as if he would hold life in Schuldig's youthful frame by main strength. If the boy died, he thought, he would have to journey back to Germany to tell the news and beg for a new mind reader, and it was a journey he did not wish to undertake. If the boy died he might be given someone who was more respectful and who knew how to make coffee that did not taste like the vilest poison. If the boy died he would no doubt be given someone dedicated to their cause, who did not curse him to his face, who did not laugh at him and who would be as efficient and as quick in his work as the boy could be when he was in the mood. If the boy died -- "Don't die," he whispered. "Don't. Obey me just this once, Schuldig, just this once."

Even when the fever broke in the early morning, and Schuldig lay sleeping at last, Crawford did not take his arms from about him, lying there and stroking the dirty and damp hair as he drew comfort from the even, slow breaths and the cooler feel of his flesh. There was no need to hold him more, for he did not move more than any boy might in his sleep, yet Crawford held on, knowing at last that Schuldig was no longer simply a weapon he could call to hand, a trained and dangerous creature he could control. He looked into the narrow, scarred face in distress and yet some joy. It had been a long time since he had had a friend to protect.


	9. Chapter 9

_London, 1879_

  
Crawford spread the _London Times_ out on the table before him, reading every word carefully, and ignoring the scandalised remarks of the other people in the hotel's breakfast room. They already thought him uncouth for his American accent, and he saw no reason not to indulge them in their prejudices, having always found that once people had seen what they wished to see, they could thereafter see nothing else. Accordingly, he was to the other guests in the hotel a well-meaning, although sadly provincial American and nothing more. He might wish that Schuldig could do more to become less eye-catchingly easy to remember, but there was little to be done on that account. Even with his hair tied back, the German attracted the eye with his energy, his easy laughter and of course his obvious duelling scars. Schuldig had now taken to telling anyone who would listen, in a fey and lisping manner, that he was a student of theosophy and poetry, a declaration that had won him the disgusted contempt of some guests and the fascinated adoration of others. He looked up from his cup of tea, and smiled to see Schuldig holding forth on the other side of the room to a lady of a certain age about matters arcane. No matter, he thought, if it amused the German, and kept him from more destructive pastimes. He had to admit that the sance Schuldig had conducted the previous week had been in truth the most amusing event he had attended in years. Nagi, dressed in a theatrical kimono, had served their guests both tea and spectral forces at play, while every one had been most impressed at the information Schuldig's spirit guide had provided him.

Without looking up Crawford pushed out a chair for Schuldig as that gentleman came across the room.

"Has she left you her diamonds yet?" he asked, turning the page of the newspaper.

"Crawford, I never thought you to be the mercenary type," said Schuldig. "I do not want the dear lady's diamonds, they are most horribly out of style. However, it is sad that she has a ring that emits bad emanations. I have promised to cleanse it, and sell it, giving the proceeds to the poor in her name. Look." So saying, he carefully held out a hand, nestled in which was a golden ring set with rubies.

"Very cursed," said Crawford seriously. "I applaud your care of the lady's spiritual health."

"What do you think?" asked Schuldig, peering at the ring, "They would look lovely in a tie pin, or on a hair comb, would they not?"

"A tie pin," said Crawford decisively, scanning the next page. "I will not be seen with you if you take to wearing combs in your hair like some girl." He looked up and smiled, saying, "Besides, the colour of the stones is wrong for your hair. Emeralds now, they would be better." He indicated the paper. "This war in Africa, it seems the British are inflicting vast damage on the native population."

"Spears against modern weapons," said Schuldig, shrugging. "Once the natives' great numerical superiority is no longer completely overwhelming, well --"

"There is feeling against the reprisals," Crawford said. "Even their Queen is horrified by what her army has been doing." He folded the paper and leaned close to Schuldig, murmuring, "We don't want peace in Africa. I've had a _communiqué_ ; we are to ensure that full-scale war breaks out."

"We are?" asked Schuldig, his eyes alight with pleasure. Then he sighed, and looked askance at Crawford, saying, "Are we going to Africa? You cannot know how tired I am of travel."

"I know, I know," said Crawford dryly, "you never pass up an opportunity to tell me. Do you not want the adventure of it, Schuldig? Picture the four of us, camping out on the veldt, negotiating with proud tribal chieftains, stirring up the Dutch, inflaming the British colonists --"

"Stop," cried Schuldig. "How have I wronged you, Crawford? I would rather die than go to Africa! Ach!" he ejaculated. "That smile surely means we are not going? Do not torment me so!"

"We're not going," said Crawford in a conciliatory tone. "You need not fear being eaten by lions just at the moment. No, we shall work from London. I want you to ensure that their government is for war. Attend any parliamentary sessions open to the public, make them unable to see you and stay for closed sessions. Whip them up, Schuldig, I want hatred and fear of these others with whom they share southern Africa, I want them to commit publicly to all-out war. Get it in the papers, as well."

" _Jawohl_ ," said Schuldig with a grin. He stood eagerly, ready to get off at once. Crawford waved him back down to his seat.

"Schuldig," he said, looking seriously at the younger man, "when we have done this, we will be travelling once more. Now, do not look at me like that, as if you are nothing but a petulant child. You enjoy new places, do you not?"

"Yes," sighed Schuldig, "it's just that the journeys themselves get so boring. And never have I seen anyone so ill from the mere mention of the sea as Nagi. Where will we sail to? I cannot bear the thought of his little green face." A horrid thought came into his mind. "You mean us to go to Australia!" he said in a wail of German. "Crawford, no! I absolutely refuse! He'd be sick all the way, and not once have you been the one to clean him up!"

Crawford laughed and patted his knee, saying, "Calm down, you are being far too theatrical and theosophical in your attitude, people are staring. No, we are not going to Australia. We are not sailing anywhere. But if I could offer you truly new sights, truly new experiences, that few if any of our people have had - is that not worth some travel, Schuldig?"

"Perhaps," said Schuldig. "Where?"

"Mars," said Crawford, raising his tea cup to his lips once more. The tea was cooler than he liked, he thought. English food and drink left a lot to be desired for a man who had travelled as extensively as himself.

"Mars," repeated Schuldig stupidly. "You are not serious?"

"I am. It's a long journey, but I have booked us on the fastest civilian ship I can. We will travel first class, of course," said Crawford, smiling at Schuldig's considering expression, for he knew well that the younger man liked his luxuries. "We'd have plenty of time to plan what we needed to do, what we _wanted_ to do," he went on, "and we would be absolutely assured that we were the only ones of our people aboard. We might even," he paused delicately, "be the only ones of our people on Mars itself."

"Ah," said Schuldig. "That could be interesting."

"It has an ancient civilisation, and many sights worthy of note," said Crawford. "Who knows what we might find for our masters?" He put a hand briefly over Schuldig's, saying, "Or for ourselves?"

"Well," said Schuldig, "I know you cannot do anything without me. I suppose it would be only charitable for me to accompany you, lest you try to get by only with Farfarello and Nagi."

"That's very kind of you," said Crawford, with a grin.

"I am a kind man," said Schuldig. He glared at Crawford suddenly. "You haven't told the others?"

"What?" cried Crawford in mock surprise, "how could I not speak with you first of all? Are you not my right hand, Schuldig?"

"I believe I am better than your right hand," said Schuldig proudly.

"Of course, of course," said Crawford. "We are partners. Now, do as I say and be off to the Houses of Parliament, partner."

" _Ja, mein Herr_ ," said Schuldig with an insolent laugh, and was gone.

Crawford smiled, and ordered a fresh pot of tea.

  


* * *

  
 _London, 1879_

  
Nagi looked up at the great etherflyer in awe, his mouth open and his eyes wide. Never in all his short life had the lad imagined that such things could exist, much less that they could be the works of man and not the imaginings of some supernatural force. Even simply sitting on its great stand, it was the largest thing he'd ever seen. All about him the crowd surged and moved, and Farfarello held on tight to his shoulder lest he be swept away. The music played continually, the strangely dressed men in their brightly coloured skirts and their tall, furry black hats producing an air unusual to his ear. Soldiers in bright red uniforms marched on to the etherflyer, and were swallowed up by its enormity, reappearing at some later time to throng the railings and call down gaily to the crowd.

"It's wonderful!" breathed Nagi, and turned to shout the same above the noise of the crowd up at Farfarello. "It's wonderful."

A cold, golden eye looked down upon him. "Yes," Farfarello said. "English soldiers. Wonderful. Ask the Martians how they feel."

Nagi fell silent, not wishing him to say they had seen enough and must leave, for he very much wished to see the etherflyer begin its long journey. He wondered how many soldiers were going to Mars, for it seemed to him that many hundreds had already entered the ship and more yet were to be seen. He wished that he could have come with Crawford, who would tell him what it was he was seeing, or with Schuldig, who could have spoken with him mind to mind, and not needed to shout. Crawford and Schuldig, however, had had business to conduct and so he had had but one choice, although he now regretted it somewhat. Farfarello did not, it seemed, value conversation much, and when he did speak his mocking tone as he referred to the soldiers or the etherflyer or the empire had already attracted hard looks in their direction. Nagi very much did not want a fight to start, not on a day when he meant to enjoy himself and partake of the amusements Crawford saw fit for a boy of his age.

At last there were no more soldiers to be seen, and the great doors of the etherflyer were shut up with a cavernous sound that echoed even above the skirling noise of the wild music. For a time nothing happened, and the crowd shifted back and forth, craning their necks. Nagi swore, using the most horrid of the words Schuldig had taught him, as a gentleman of considerable girth and weight trod upon his toe. He was quite the shortest person in the crowd, he thought, except for the children, and would never be able to see anything of interest. He stood on tip toe, trying vainly to see what was going on. All at once, hands seized him and he was flung upwards. Gasping in surprise he realised he was being lifted to where he could scramble onto a low shed roof, already thronged with boys, and pulled himself up nimbly, sitting on the edge and letting his legs dangle loose. Looking down he saw a young man grinning up at him, and Farfarello sliding a knife back up his sleeve as he saw it had not been an attack.

"You'll be able to see now," said the young man, slowly and loudly, as if Nagi were an idiot.

"Thank you," Nagi said, and looked about him. The other boys seemed younger than him, but he supposed the man could not tell with boys who were not English. The boys looked back at him, finding him, as it were, more fascinating at that moment than the great ship.

"'Ere, where're you from, then?" one asked, peering at him suspiciously.

"Tokyo," said Nagi.

"Where's that? That in London?" asked another.

"No," said Nagi, feeling superior in his worldliness. "It's in Japan. I've come across America, all the way from side to side, and then to England."

They nodded, as if it were only natural to come to their land. "So why d'yer eyes look like that?" asked one, pulling ignorantly at the corners of his own eyes in illustration.

Nagi debated knocking him off the roof, but instead decided on sighing in the manner Crawford had when Schuldig was, as Farfarello put it, in one of his moods. "I'm Japanese," he said. And to drive his point home, repeated this in his own tongue.

The boys gaped at him, and cried out, "Say sumfink else!"

Nagi, seeing their rapt attention, and not seeing any more activity from the etherflyer, said, "I am a member of a great society that shall make the world better for everyone, and have travelled many thousands of miles with my companions to bring this about. We are assassins. Ah!" he finished, as Farfarello, whose hearing, it seemed, was unfortunately excellent, reached up and hit his leg hard.

"Behave," said Farfarello, glaring up at him.

"How many people do you think speak Japanese here?" asked Nagi rudely, drawing his legs out of reach.

"How disappointed do you think Crawford will be with you and your blabbering mouth?" said Farfarello with a nasty smile as Nagi sulkily kept quiet.

There was a loud noise then from the etherflyer, and all disagreements were forgotten as the ship rocked a little on its huge rest and then the taut chains were released, being winched up within the vast body of the ship. The last two being released, the etherflyer seemed to pause as if considering a matter of great import and then, to the screams and gasps of delight from the crowd it began to rise into the air, slowly and ponderously. Nagi and the other boys on the roof sprang to their feet and jumped up and down with excitement. The ship was rising smoothly now, still slow in its ascent, and the soldiers at the rails were waving furiously and shouting things that had no chance of being heard, but that all took to be farewells to their loved ones. The crowd shouted back, a confusion of noise, and the men waved their hats and the ladies their handkerchiefs. Up and up the ship soared, birds flying now under its mountainous bulk and the weak English sun, for so it appeared to Nagi who had passed his childhood under an altogether more warming heavenly orb, glinted from its imposing grey sides. Within but a short space of time the etherflyer was a small and far distant sight, seeming almost the size of a child's toy, and, as Nagi stayed on the roof, ignoring Farfarello's entreaties to come down and do something, anything, else, it passed beyond the ranges of human vision, and was gone. Nagi sighed in pleasure, and wished he could see such a thing every day. He looked down, finding his neck ached and saw Farfarello glance up at him.

"Jump," said Farfarello, holding out his arms. Nagi did so, and was easily caught and steadied. "I thought you were going to be having pigeons landing on you, you were there for so long," said Farfarello in amusement.

"Are we really going on one of those? Truly?" asked Nagi in excitement. Nothing, it seemed to him, could possibly be finer.

"Ask Crawford," said Farfarello, and, as Nagi looked set to rush straight back to the hotel to do just that said hastily, "Ask him later, they'll want some time to finish up their business. Look, he said to take you to the zoo next. No doubt he wants me to swap you for a monkey."

Nagi paused and then laughed. It had taken him some time to discern when Farfarello was joking, for the young man said everything in the same, mild tone when he was in good humour. He willingly accompanied Farfarello to the Zoological Gardens, for in the spirit he was in, even riding the omnibus seemed an adventure, and he pretended to himself that it was an etherflyer taking them to Mars. The animals themselves he pretended to be wild Martian beasts, brought to Earth for the amusement of the people. Farfarello laughed at him, as if he knew what Nagi was thinking, which, Nagi thought, was a possibility that should never be ruled out with people such as they. At last he succumbed to the more usual of the delights of the Zoological Gardens, laughing at the chimpanzees' tea party, and eagerly awaiting his turn to ride upon the elephant, during which he agreed with the attendant that he was indeed an Indian prince. When at last the afternoon was drawing to a close, he all but dragged the unfortunate Farfarello back onto an omnibus and through the crowds of people making their weary way home, all the way back to their hotel, where he flung himself gaily through their door exclaiming over the wonders he had seen that day.

"Are we truly going to Mars, Crawford?" he asked, "You promise?"

Crawford looked up at his shining face, from where he and Schuldig had been talking and laughing together, and smiled.

"Truly," he said. "I promise, Nagi."


	10. Chapter 10

_Grahovo Valley, Hercegovina, 1875_

  
Crawford sat on the stubby little horse, glaring at the world. It seemed to him that the sky had been grey every day since he and Schuldig had come to these mountainous regions, and the mist and the damp worked their way into everything they owned. They and the peasants to whom they had come were sleeping rough, and it galled Crawford to realise that he had become used to more comfortable arrangements. Being a young man, he did not arise in the mornings with any more difficulty than usual, and, should he indeed be stiff upon rising, could easily shake it from himself. It was the smell he detested, he thought, for all his belongings, all his clothing, and he himself smelled of wet sheepskin and wet horse. Pleasant imaginings of shooting his horse and the peasants played before his eyes. Schuldig looked back at him, a wide grin upon his face, and Crawford scowled. The lads hair hung lank and dirty, and a smudge of soot from the tiny fire they had allowed themselves the previous night still adorned his cheek. His lips were chapped and his long fingers reddened from the cold and, although his eyes were as merry as ever, it was clear that he was very tired, from the shadows beneath them, and the way in which he rubbed at them. However, Crawford thought, as Schuldig raised an insolent eyebrow, he had better things to think of than the disreputable appearance of his mind reader. The leader of the Serb rebels passed him a flask of the rough spirit they favoured, and Crawford drew a long mouthful of it, grimacing. It kept him warm, at least.

"There are Ottoman soldiers in that village," said Jovo Princip, the leader of the little band. "Here to collect the taxes, may God curse them."

"Most certainly he will," said Crawford, looking down the hill. "Let them collect the money and leave." A hubbub of noise broke out about him and he held up a hand for silence. "Be quiet! Your cries will carry in this still air! Do you wish them to hear? Let them, I say, collect the money, and fall upon them after they have left the village."

"If we fight them in the village, the men will aid us," said one of Jovo's sons.

"Or they may fight against you, from fear of the soldiers," said Crawford. He looked about him at the stubborn faces and sighed. "You will cause the women and children to be endangered," he said. "I cannot believe that is what you want." The mutters subsided and he favoured Jovo with a thin smile. "Have I ever given you bad advice?" he asked. "We should fall upon them after they have already left."

"And then we can return the money!" cried Jovo's other son, Petar.

Crawford smiled on him pleasantly as Schuldig tried to disguise a laugh with coughing. He felt something when he looked upon this man, although he could not yet decide what it meant. "No," said Crawford. "Then you will use the money to buy better weapons and ammunition, rather than the muskets you bear." All the men began to make far too much noise, telling him the money belonged to honest peasants and should not be taken from them. Crawford waited till they were done, and went on. "They will have already given the money up for lost," he said, "and their hatred is directed towards the landlords and the soldiers, not you. Rebellion is not like a pleasant gathering of friends where one merely talks about the hardships one is willing to undergo. All must make sacrifices. Theirs is a minor one, aand they will not hate you, for they will not even know they have made it. But better weapons, free your people. They will tell you they find it a good bargain." He stared them down, aand none of them would meet his eyes.

"Very well," said Jovo at last. "We will do as you say, Crawford, but only because the freedom of our people is everything."

"Of course," said Crawford. "No one doubts that, Jovo. Now, let us get around this hill to a safe distance where we may lie in wait for these men who oppress your people. They will come this way, I assure you." He led the way, and forced them off their straggly horses and into the wet bracken. It was the most inept ambush he had seen them attempt yet, but, he reflected, the soldiers were always as inept in their approach. He sighed as he lay down, and sighted along his rifle barrel. Schuldig put his lips to his ear, not wanting to give the superstitious rebels any reason to believe them uncanny.

"I love your ideas on how we should spend our hard earned wealth and leisure, Crawford," he breathed.

Crawford twitched at the feel of the lad's warm breath, ticklish on his chilled flesh, and pushed him away more roughly than he intended. "Down there," he said in German, to show he was not angry, "they will come out of the house that we saw on the left of the village and will immediately turn up this path. They will ride for twenty five minutes and be around on this side of the hill. By the time they reach that rock with the white mark we should begin shooting." He turned his head and repeated this instruction to the men around them.

"Will these peasants' weapons be of any use at such a distance?" asked Schuldig quietly, frowning.

"Unlikely," said Crawford. "We shall have to do the bulk of the killing."

"Well, that is no hardship," said Schuldig, "I will be glad of the action. This is a boring place, Crawford. Nothing of interest will ever happen here. What possible use can these people be to us?"

"I don't know," said Crawford. "All I can say is I know we must keep that man and his sons alive."

"Can't you have a vision of us taking our ease in Berlin or Paris?" asked Schuldig. "Would you not like us to be strolling down the Champs Elysees, Crawford?"

"What would I do with you in Paris?" asked Crawford.

"Buy me dinner," grinned Schuldig, then, "Ah! Look! Here they come!"

The soldiers had indeed straggled out of the house where they had been sleeping, and readied their little horses, riding at last slowly and wearily up the path for the full twenty five minutes that Crawford had said they would, until they were well out of view from the village, and had passed also beyond earshot. Schuldig and Crawford waited, their fingers ready on their triggers, until the agreed upon landmark had been reached.

 _Crack. Crack._

The soldiers in the lead fell from their horses without a sound, and the other men opened fire. Crawford and Schuldig shot calmly again and again, their bullets accounting for all the soldiers before the bewildered and sleepy men could so much as ascertain from whence the attack came. Crawford leapt to his feet, a smile on his face that felt stiff and unnatural.

"Well done!" he cried as the Serbs slapped each other on the back. "Quick now - down to them and hide the bodies. Take their horses and their weapons, they will do to equip others until you can buy better." He and Schuldig shared a weary look as the men rushed to do his bidding.

Weeks later they were still in the mountains. Crawford was furious with himself, the Serbs, Schuldig, the weather, the horses, the fact that his growing beard itched, the fact that Schuldig had no beard worth speaking of to make him itch and, in fact, was out of sorts with all of creation. He very much feared they had all picked up fleas, and sat at night staring into the fire and willing himself not to scratch. Schuldig amused himself at these times by telling jokes and stories that Crawford recognised as simplified versions of Shakespeare's plays. These tales held no attraction for him, and he would stare in discontent at the lad as he waved his hands about in illustration, the firelight catching up the colour of his hair or the dusting of reddish down upon his cheek. The more Schuldig made the men laugh or gasp, the more Crawford looked on his appearance, the more discontent he became. He was annoyed, he thought, because the lad made no attempt to blend in, his brightly coloured hair being let hang loose and girlish about his face. And he was too free in his speech, thought Crawford, making friends with these men whom they should but aid and then leave. The Serbs had no business laughing at Schuldig's jokes, or calling him by pet names. Schuldig encouraged such familiarity, Crawford was sure, purely to be infuriating. The boy, he thought, delighted in disrespectful actions, smiling sidelong at him with his startlingly blue eyes as if they were equals. He had spoilt the lad since Egypt, treated him like an indulged pet, he had allowed him far too much freedom. He thought of Schuldig in Cairo, laughing, his feet up on the balcony railing, the lines of hard work and sickness eased from his young face. It had been a quiet and peaceful time, before their masters had put fresh demands upon them. The European flowers in the pots about them had taken more water, day by day, than they had had for their daily needs in the desert, but were a beautiful extravagance. Schuldig had looked bright and vibrant against the dark leaves and bright flowers. Crawford thrust the memory from him. The boy liked extravagance too much and should not be encouraged. He should, he thought, remind Schuldig of what life was truly like. He should cut his hair again. It was time to tighten the leash.

Before this plan could be put into effect, however, fate intervened. Riding in the rain on one of the endless and steep trails about the hills, Crawford barely had time to shout a warning before the hidden soldiers began firing. One of the rebels went tumbling off his horse with a surprised cry, to lie face down in the trail. The others leapt from their mounts to seek out cover, and Crawford felt a sudden roil of sickness through him as he saw before his mind's eye Petar Princip's heart destroyed within him by a Turkish bullet. Without a thought for his own safety, Crawford flung himself on the young man, bearing him down as the bullet whined above their heads. He breathed more easily, feeling the sense of urgency recede. Hearing a scream of fury he looked up to see Schuldig rise to his feet and raise his rifle to his shoulder to shoot one of the ambushers who had, iit seemed, at that very moment felt the inexplicable urge to stand up also. The other Turks all fired at the target so temptingly revealing himself, and Schuldig went over sideways, sliding down the hill. Crawford stared at the spot the lad had stood in, his mind blank with horror, then, seizing Petar's collar, he hissed, "Run! Get everyone away from here!" After this he rolled across the trail, coming up to one knee to drop another attacker, and then flinging himself into the undergrowth down the hill. As he had seen, the soldiers concentrated their efforts on the more visible fleeing rebels, and he crept silently along, calling out in his mind, "Schuldig! Answer me!"

At last a response sounded in his mind. "Over here." He felt the compulsion to turn his head, and saw Schuldig lying beneath a bush. "Are you hurt?" thought Crawford, and felt red fury rise within him as Schuldig rolled his eyes as if to imply that Crawford worried as much as an old woman. He cast a glance up the hill, saw no one was looking, and moved as quickly as possible to where Schuldig lay, slapping him hard across the face. The lad's eyes widened in shock, and Crawford shook him for good measure.

"Little fool!" he hissed. "Move! Down the hill while the Turks chase the others!" He seized Schuldig's arm and dragged him down the hill, ignoring the cut off complaint. Only when they were out of easy sight, and had found cover where they might stay hidden till the fast-approaching darkness hid them, did he turn to face Schuldig, still furious. "What did you think you were doing?" he demanded.

"I thought you had been shot," said Schuldig in his sulkiest tones, refusing to look in Crawford's eyes.

"And so you risked yourself heroically to get revenge?" asked Crawford sarcastically. "What good would you have done if I had in fact been killed? Did you forget I see the future? Of course I knew what I was doing. I was perfectly safe. You become more and more annoying, Schuldig. I do not know what I shall do with you."

"I think you forget I read minds," said Schuldig nastily, then gasped in pain as Crawford hit him once again in the face.

"How dare you speak to me so?" said Crawford. "How dare you endanger yourself so stupidly? Would you throw away the expense and time of your training out of some boyish idiocy?"

"Oh!" ejaculated Schuldig, "I am so sorry to have made you fear for your profits, Herr Crawford. I had forgotten I am merely a tool in your hand."

"Don't forget it," said Crawford angrily. "Never forget it. You cannot know how hard I found it to persuade them to agree I should have a mind reader, and you were by far the wrong boy for me to take. I should have let them punish you properly. And then to see you fall in the fight --" The memory of the fear he had felt was overwhelmed by his anger, and he struck out, winding a hand in the lad's hair and pulling his head back hard. "I can see you need a lesson," he said, pulling out his knife.

"No!" cried Schuldig, as Crawford set the blade to his hair, "do not! Crawford, Herr Crawford, _please_." He pushed at Crawford's hand, his own hand slipping, and causing the knife to jerk and cut through some of his hair, but not all, as Crawford had intended.

Crawford flung down the hank of damp hair scornfully as Schuldig wept and stopped fighting. Then he looked at his knife hand in some surprise, and saw it wet with blood, the marks of Schuldig's fingers clear. The lad's hand was also bloody, he saw, and he favoured his left arm. "You are hurt," he said.

"A bullet clipped me," said Schuldig. "It's nothing."

"It is not nothing," said Crawford, opening the boy's coat and peering within his shirt. It seemed to be but a deep scratch, he saw in relief, the bullet was not lodged in the lad's arm. Schuldig was right, it was a minor wound that looked worse than it was. "Why did you not say you were hurt?" he asked.

"I didn't want you to be worried," said Schuldig, looking mournfully at the hair lying on the ground. He seemed all at once to become smaller in despair. "But you do not worry about me, Crawford, I am just a thing to you."

"That's not true," said Crawford, finding his rage leave him entirely. "I was worried when I saw you fall. I was worried in Egypt."

"I would be expensive to replace," said Schuldig, a thread of humour creeping back into his voice.

"Yes," said Crawford, easing him out of his coat and opening his shirt further. "The accountants would not be pleased. Let me wash this for you." He took out his hip-flask and poured some of the rebels' rough drink over the wound. "Yes, yes, I know. It stings, but it's necessary. I would hate to have to travel all the way to Germany and then back again. It's good I don't have to."

"You could get a nice quiet boy who called you "sir" and was polite," said Schuldig, wincing at the touch of Crawford's hands.

"You're quiet now," said Crawford lightly. "Perhaps you will even call me "sir" some day and mean it." He touched the lad's hair gently, saying, "When it's light, let me make this neater. I won't make it very short." He ran a finger over the bruise forming on Schuldig's cheek, saying in apology, "I did not mean to hit you quite so hard." Schuldig sighed and shifted closer to him, and Crawford did his best to tie up the wound, tearing a piece from the lad's shirt. "Is that better?" he asked, gratified to see the boy's knowing smile come back onto his face, and feeling wholly and simply pleased that Schuldig was alive and well enough, and did not seem to hate him for his anger.

"Yes," said Schuldig. "Much better. You are not confusing yourself at the moment. You have been the very devil, pulling yourself this way and that."

"What?" said Crawford, frowning in bewilderment as the lad lifted his unhurt arm and touched Crawford's cheek.

"Crawford," said Schuldig, with a smile, speaking as if to a very slow child, "I can read your mind." So saying, he slipped his arm about Crawford's neck and leaned closer to kiss him.

Crawford went stiff in shock, then pushed him hard, seeking to thrust him away. Schuldig raised his other arm with a grimace and held on tight. "Ah!" he ejaculated, "Schuldig!" the boy clung on and kissed him again, laughing.

"Do not tell me, "no," Crawford," he said, as Crawford attempted to pry his hands away. "You watch me all the time. You think of me all the time."

"Because you are so wild," said Crawford, "I must think how to control you."

"You worry about me," said Schuldig triumphantly.

"I assure you, I will not in future," said Crawford. "Stop being so silly, Schuldig."

The lad stopped laughing and looked at him seriously. "You held me while I was dying," he said.

"You were not dying," said Crawford in some desperation. "You are very much alive, and very annoying."

"That is not what you think," said Schuldig, "you cannot lie to me, why lie to yourself? You know you do not take advantage of me, you know you should not think it wrong. Morality is a lie, Crawford, are we not taught that?" He let go of Crawford and sat back. "You feared I would die and held me, you thought I had been shot and came after me. Will you not embrace me although I am annoyingly alive?"

Crawford thought hard on how he had indeed been frantic with care when Schuldig was in danger, and how he had treated him more coldly after he knew the lad was safe. He thought also on the pleasures of watching the lad relax and act like a young person once more after they had safely returned to Cairo. His more recent behaviour seemed to him like a stupid habit, one no rational man would follow when confronted with what seemed to be the truth, and so he reached out to embrace Schuldig, who smiled and came willingly into his arms. "Schuldig," he said doubtfully, when the boy had left off kissing him, "It's starting to rain, and we're hiding beneath some bushes that will, no doubt, let plenty of the rain through onto us."

"I told you that you should have taken me to Paris," said Schuldig cheerfully. "Make it up to me by keeping us in fine hotels after this." He pushed Crawford's coat off his shoulders saying, "Stop fighting to preserve your virtue, Crawford. It's unseemly." He paused, and a queer look of compassion came into his eyes. "Oh, Crawford," he said, "no. You are not like them. You are _nothing_ like them. This is not Germany."

No more, it seemed, needed to be said, and Crawford embraced and kissed him like a man who had long had only what he needed to exist and was now given freely what was required for him to at last begin to live.


	11. Chapter 11

_Cunard Etherflyer "Servia," 1879_

Nagi put the bags he had been carrying down by the bed and looked about the stateroom in awe. He had not on any of their previous journeys seen so much space made available to a passenger, and the sitting room and bedroom shared by Crawford and Schuldig seemed to him cavernous and vast. He touched the electric lamp set into the wall reverently, seeing how clear the colours of the wallpaper were in its strong, bright light. Everything looked sharp edged and distinct, and he thought he liked it better by far than the soft gas lights to which he had become accustomed. He sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing a little, and plucking at the safety netting stretched taut across it, while admiring his reflection in the glass set firmly into the door of the wardrobe. As they had been told that everything must be firmly secured, he then went over and admired the strong catch and lock on the wardrobe doors, and closed them up safely. Having done this he examined every other piece of furniture, playing with the straps and other measures by which the safety of the passengers during the voyage might be assured. The size and appointment of the room made it all most luxurious, the only jarring feature being that the floor was, of necessity, of bare uncarpeted steel. Nagi was engaged in doing his best to jump up and down to test the strength of the magnets set into the shoes that he had been given when Farfarello looked in from the next room.

"What are you doing?" asked Farfarello, looking at him as if he were mad.

"Nothing," said Nagi, blushing.

"Well, stop doing it and come here, Crawford wants you."

Nagi at once went into the sitting room and found Crawford and Schuldig reading over a plan of the ship together. All persons aboard had been given such a plan, and asked to examine it carefully so that they not become lost. Most passengers, thought Nagi proudly, were too stupid to use it to plot out defensive positions and clear lines of sight as Crawford and Schuldig were doing. He sat down by them and peered at the plans upside down.

"This is where you'll be," said Crawford, turning the page and indicating the small cabin Nagi already knew he would share with Farfarello and two strangers. "The passages are more cramped, so watch your angles in the case of any trouble."

"Are we expecting any trouble?" asked Farfarello, the slight edge in his voice indicating he would welcome such a thing. Nagi sighed slightly. Farfarello had been good for a very long time, he thought, but such a state could not last forever. Schuldig snorted with suppressed laughter and glanced up to meet his eyes.

"Little worrier," he said, and went back to drawing in angles for firing.

"I'm not expecting trouble," said Crawford, fixing Farfarello with a stern look. "I don't want any fights, any injuries, any murders on this trip. Stay _out_ of the ship's chapel."

Farfarello nodded, peaceably enough. "Nothing that cannot be explained as natural occurrences," he said, and smiled at Crawford's and Nagi's sigh. "I'll behave," he said, grinning.

"Good," said Crawford. "And will you be all right, Nagi?"

"Yes," said Nagi firmly. "You don't have to worry about me.

"Keep a bucket by your bunk," said Schuldig in an evil tone.

"There is no water. I will be perfectly all right," said Nagi, offended as they all laughed.

"Good boy," said Crawford, and stroked his hair. "You understand why we are travelling in this arrangement?"

Nagi nodded. Farfarello and he were easier to explain to the world as servants, Crawford had said, and would be almost ignored by others once that status was known. They'd have freedom to move about and not be noticed. And it would provide depth to Crawford and Schuldig, who would be seen as gentlemen. Crawford had explained most carefully that they did not mean to slight Nagi, that he was not really their servant. He had not needed such an explanation, he thought, as if he were a little child who would be made unhappy, but he was pleased Crawford had wanted to take such note of his feelings. There was another reason for the travel arrangements too, he thought, looking about him at the large and lavishly decorated sitting room. Such a suite was normally occupied by a single passenger, and for passengers who shared there were double suites. He had seen Crawford's amused expression as he made Schuldig read through the schedule of prices, however, when the German had complained that economising on first class took the enjoyment out of travel. Schuldig had gone very quiet, and stopped complaining, and had later even volunteered that the accommodation seemed very spacious and luxurious.

"We have half an hour before we must be prepared for the start of our journey," said Crawford, looking at his pocket watch. "You two should go to your cabin, and make sure that everything is safely secured. Don't try to tempt fate, stay in your bunks until the all clear has been given. We'll see you when the ascent from the atmosphere has been completed."

Nagi and Farfarello did as he said, the safety regulations being quite clear that both the ascent and descent were to be undergone while lying down, with the security netting affixed properly. When the ship lifted its vast bulk from the ground, Nagi felt the slight movement of things settling, and swallowed hard. It would be all right, he thought, there were no waves to make things go up and down. He closed his eyes for a while and thought about being weightless, but soon discovered that the ascent was so slow as to make it hard to discern any changes. He had given up hoping to see things become progressively lighter, when suddenly he felt things change all about him and a moment later he realised he was floating upwards, held down only by the netting. He moved his head and saw a book, left unsecured by one of the men with whom they shared the small cabin, floating in mid air. Annoyed by such stupidity, he reached out with his mind, meaning to slide it under a shelf, where at least it would be findable. He suddenly did not know which way was up and a feeling far worse than anything he had experienced on the sea overcame him. He scrabbled for the sturdy paper bags kept in a pocket affixed to the wall beside each of the bunks, panicked and sick, and did not care about the exclamations of disgust from the others.

The sickness got no better, and Nagi felt well only after he had slept, when, for as long as he did not move, he did not need to have the bags to hand. On many days he found himself lying in Crawford and Schuldig's bed, listening to them discuss him before Schuldig made him go to sleep. It became harder and harder for him to journey between his own cabin and their suite, and it distressed him that he could not properly play his part. A real servant would not be treated so, he thought. Other passengers would notice him.

"How thin you have become," said Crawford, frowning down at him. "You must try to eat more."

Nagi felt their concern, but could not appreciate it, the mere mention of food making him feel more immediately ill. Schuldig took his hands in his own, saying, "Now, Nagi, I am feeling quite well, can't you try to simply make yourself feel what I do?" Nagi, however, could think only of the horrible results of eating, and pulled his hands free to pluck up a bag.

"I am no longer feeling well," muttered Schuldig in disgust. "Come now, lie down and I will wash your face."

At last they said to Nagi that his abilities were the cause of his sickness, and Crawford shook out pills for him to take. They caused him to feel very sleepy and not to know quite where he was, making him, moreover, feel somehow queerly empty in the centre of his head. After he had taken them, he found he could no longer feel what others felt, and while he was not sure if they helped the dizziness in any way, he at least no longer cared. Farfarello, it seemed to him, varied between being grateful that Nagi was no longer so ill, and feeling slighted that he now had no one to tell his stories of fights he had had with the crew, for he spent his free time in the boiler room, saying it reminded him of Hell, a comparison that the stokers resented. Days and weeks passed, and to Nagi they were no more than a distant dream, and he did not notice crewmen and passengers looking at him askance.

Nagi did not know how long it was before he dimly heard the bells ringing throughout the ship. He stood bewildered in a corridor for what seemed to him many minutes, then, to be helpful, attempted to remove himself from blocking other passengers from their use of the corridor. He was unsure why a steward took his arm and pulled him along in an impatient manner, but was very glad when a door opened suddenly before them and he saw Crawford.

"Sir, he was standing in a corridor for an hour, ignoring the bells," said the steward in exasperation, for he had delivered Nagi back to Crawford on other occasions. "And when he was required to move, he imitated the crew's below-decks manner and stood upon the wall, upsetting some ladies."

"I apologise," said Crawford, "he has not been well. Thank you." So saying he took Nagi from the steward while giving some coins to the steward, and pulled the bewildered boy into the room.

"He should discharge the little blighter," muttered the steward, setting off about his duty, "taking his filthy opium and wandering round in public like that."

Inside the room, Nagi looked in some surprise at Crawford, who leaned against the door and laughed.

"Farfarello has been looking for you," said Crawford. "He is quite frantic, and all the time you have been loitering in the first class sections of the _Servia_. Schuldig, can you reassure him that the wanderer has been found?"

"Of course," said Schuldig, looking into the middle distance, and then smiling. "He says to tell you he will belt you one later, Nagi. I believe that to be a threat, so be glad you are with us."

"Come now, the descent is to begin," said Crawford. "You will stay here where we can be sure you don't try to flee the ship prematurely, Nagi."

It came to Nagi very slowly that they were joking at his expense, but by that time he was already safely tucked under the bed's netting, held tight by both it and Schuldig's arms. There was a strange low groaning noise from all around, and the lamps on the wall were shaking more and more. It was very worrying, and Nagi felt alarmed that he was doing it, and that he would break things.

"Shh," said Schuldig calmingly. "It is all right, you're all right. You're just very tired, very tired, you can rest, go to slee--"

When he awoke he felt very heavy, and saw that the others were up and moving about the room.

"Up you get!" cried Schuldig gaily, plucking him from the warm bed. He drew back Nagi's eyelids, looking into the boy's eyes. "Not so bad," he muttered, "it is wearing off, I think, Crawford."

"He shouldn't need more," said Crawford, and came over, putting a bag into Nagi's hands. "Can you carry that? It is very light. Good boy." He patted Nagi's head and went back to his preparations. When things began to make more sense again, Nagi found himself following the others down the gangplank, with heat beating down upon him. The ground was red he saw, as he stood patiently awaiting whatever would happen next. He looked over incuriously to where Crawford and Schuldig were talking to a man about the moving of their luggage into the city, and saw that there were carriages about, into which other passengers were nervously entering. They were drawn not by horses, but by strange and monstrous looking beasts, the like of which he had never seen. He blinked in surprise, and turned as Farfarello tapped him on the shoulder.

"Now that you're awake," said Farfarello, and pointed away from where the passengers engaged carriages and porters. Nagi looked in astonishment at the nearby city, the tall and graceful towers, the buildings of red and yellowish stone and the great canal of green water that lay between them and the city. All was sharp-edged and clear just as things had been under the electric lights of the _Servia_. Nagi took a step forward, and was grabbed by Farfarello, who muttered something about not allowing him to run away again. Relenting, he grinned down at Nagi, looking suddenly no more than a boy himself.

"Welcome," he said, "to Mars."

  


* * *

  
 _New London, 1880_

  
Schuldig looked curiously out of the window at the street below. The harsh sunlight had driven, it seemed, the tall and dark natives into shelter and only humans walked about, the ladies with parasols which, it seemed to Schuldig, served more for decoration than to protect their fair complexions from the effects of the sun's touch. Behind him Nagi was beseeching Crawford for permission to go out exploring, permission that Crawford was withholding until, no doubt, he could tell Schuldig to accompany the boy. Well, he thought, the city seemed interesting, it would be no hardship to have Nagi follow him around for the day. Farfarello had slipped out early, probably to avoid the very duty, thought Schuldig, that was now being considered. He turned to say he would accompany Nagi on a mission of _reconnaissance_ , but was forestalled by Crawford.

"Why don't I go out with you?" said Crawford, and Nagi's face lit up with glee as Schuldig paused. Crawford smiled at him, saying, "You can come too, if you like."

Schuldig felt a moment's _pique_ , that he should be offered Crawford's company as a treat as if he too were a mere boy to be impressed. Then he thought that it would be amusing to explore with company and that they could plan as they journeyed around the city. Accordingly he smiled pleasantly and picked up his hat, ready to go forth into the heat of the sun.

For the whole day they walked around the city, with no route in mind, seeking out the major streets between the graceful and ancient native buildings and the modern buildings of English design. They went also down narrow side streets, walking amongst the slender, tall Martians, looking at them with open curiosity. The Martians, for their part, after brief looks at the three of them merely turned away as if they did not exist. Nagi skipped on ahead, calling back as he found new marvels, while Crawford and Schuldig walked more sedately, like sensible men who had no thought but to walk around for amusement, and not like men examining the city for every advantage.

"That window commands the entire street," remarked Crawford, indicating the aperture of which he spoke with a flick of his eyes.

"The man approaching us is carrying a loaded revolver in his pocket," muttered Schuldig looking straight ahead, "ah. He is deathly afraid of the natives. It would take very little to make him start shooting."

"It is too hot to bother," said Crawford. "Another time, Schuldig."

"Am I to have no amusement at all?" said Schuldig. "Well, you are right, I suppose. Nagi! Turn left!" he continued, having seen down a side street that a park was to be found in that direction.

They spent a pleasant time in the park, admiring the beautiful yet, in that arid clime wasteful, fountains that gave to the native grass its verdant colour. The ladies and gentlemen of New London seemed also to favour the park, and the only Martians to be seen within its delightful expanse were employed, it seemed, to attend to its needs. Some few soldiers who seemed to be off-duty escorted young women around the paths.

"There are quite a number of soldiers in the streets," said Schuldig.

"The garrison is very large," said Crawford. "They will surely be used for a great push soon, especially as more troops are to come up from Earth, and the native regiments are to continue recruiting. Vast areas more of Mars will become British possessions."

"Do we want that?" asked Schuldig, not in truth caring one way or another.

"Instability caused by the introduction of another imperial power would probably be to our people's advantage," said Crawford. "We have plenty of candidates, although I am certain our friends would favour Germany or the Austro-Hungarians. Perhaps French attention will turn this way, who knows?"

Schuldig shuddered, thinking of how awful it would have been to go to French Venus rather than Mars, imagining the never-ending rain and the foul and sucking swamps.

"And what do _we_ want here?" he asked, to scrub from his mind the thought of pushing through thick, low-hanging vines and wading in mud.

Crawford shrugged and raised a lazy hand, as if to indicate he had no idea and Schuldig nodded, recognising the gesture that indicated it was a matter for discussion when there were no other distractions and no other people present. He contented himself instead with leaning against Crawford's shoulder and watching the people walk to and fro.

That night, when they were finally alone he spoke in Crawford's mind, saying, "Well, what is it? Why are we here?"

"Egypt," thought Crawford, "the king's inscription was, it seems, a map of sorts."

"We are a long way from Egypt," thought Schuldig in annoyance.

"So impatient. It was a map of Mars. So I have been informed," thought Crawford, pulling Schuldig closer to him.

"Now that _is_ interesting," thought Schuldig. "And on this map?"

"References to a great temple of the sun. If our experts are not completely deluded, information of great import can be gleaned from it. _If_ they are not deluded."

"And for us?" thought Schuldig, smiling as Crawford kissed his face.

"Worldly riches. We won't be chastised for keeping reasonable amounts, if there's anything to keep. Information." He paused, as if considering whether or not to continue and Schuldig groaned.

" _Crawford_ ," he said aloud in frustration.

"We're a long way from Earth," thought Crawford at last. "There is no one to monitor our thoughts and deeds. Perhaps the information could benefit us in some way. Why do they want to know this? If we can discover it, perhaps we can profit by it." He whispered against Schuldig's ear, murmuring, "Perhaps we can use the information before they can."

"Always ambitious," said Schuldig fondly, and put a stop to conversation for the night.

  
Some days later, their enjoyment of the city having waned in the vast heat of midday, they gathered in Crawford and Schuldig's hotel rooms, and passed the time in training Nagi in the better use of his abilities, taking it in turns to throw items at the lad and having him cause them to fly from him or stand stock-still in mid-air. Nagi for his part enjoyed this, seeing it as a most amusing pastime and flicking the items back at the thrower or making them describe patterns in their movements in the air. They had been engaged in this for some time, and Farfarello, being bored with the harmless items he had thrown produced a knife.

"Nagi," he said warningly, "don't miss this."

Looking out the window at this moment, Crawford saw people running in the street, and then he whipped his head round an instant before someone hammered at the door. Nagi turned to look at the door, letting the items all fall to the ground. Farfarello uttered a strangled oath, and at the moment of letting the knife fly from his hand succeeded in putting the slightest deviation in its course, causing it to fly past an inch from Nagi's head. Schuldig stood, his revolver cocked in his hand, and Crawford shook his head silently, going to the door.

"Yes?" he said to the maid who stood outside, her hand raised to knock again.

"Sir!" she cried, "sir, the garrison's sent word. There's a native army on the way. The city's bein' 'vacuated, we've got to get into the fort as quick as we can!"

Crawford slammed the door in her face, snapping, "Quick! Essentials only!"

With not a word spoken more the four of them readied themselves, and within a space of time remarkable for its brevity had joined the throng of civilians being shepherded along by worried-faced soldiers. The fortress, though large in its construction, was crowded once as many of the city people as could be found had crowded into it. Crawford kept his team together, and they stood, calm and collected in the shadow of a wall, watching panic and fear roil around them. This was nothing new, he thought. They were the ones who instigated fear and panic. They would not let it effect them, he thought, watching Farfarello humming tunelessly, Nagi standing silently close to him and Schuldig looking at the crowd. This was nothing to them.


	12. Chapter 12

_Schloß Rosenkreuz, 1875_

  
Schuldig paced back and forth across the room, glaring at the stone walls and then glaring evilly also at Crawford, who attempted, with some patience, to ignore the boy's foul mood. At least, he thought, the lad was silent at last, both in speech and mind. No sooner had he thought this, than Schuldig burst forth in annoyance.

"We should have gone to Italy, Crawford, or France. Their winters are more pleasurable than this promises to be. I am freezing! Can we not spend Christmas somewhere enjoyable?"

"I was summoned here," said Crawford as calmly as he could. "Am I now to ignore orders, Schuldig? I cannot, as well you know."

"You didn't need to bring me, you could have sent me on ahead," said Schuldig sulkily. "I could have found us accommodation and entertainment, and then you could have joined me."

"Come here," said Crawford, in an icy tone he had not used with the lad for a long time. Surprised, Schuldig came over, looking as if he obeyed through some long habit. Crawford tipped his face up with a finger under his chin, and looked at him as if he were a great annoyance. "You _will_ learn to be respectful and obedient, if I must kill you to achieve it," he said loudly, and then, bending swiftly to touch his lips to Schuldig's ear, murmured softly, "oblige me in this, act the part."

Schuldig looked him in the eye and said in a loud and angry voice, "I do the tasks you set me, what more obedience do you want, Crawford? Respect _me_ , and perhaps I will respect you."

As Crawford had seen, the door opened just as he hit Schuldig, Dorfmann walking in and smiling coldly at the spectacle before him. Schuldig bit back a gasp of pain that was quite unfeigned, and looked smaller somehow.

"I see he has not learned from his earlier chastisement," said Dorfmann. "We should take him back for a little. You would learn respect then, would you not, Schuldig? You should be more respectful of Herr Crawford, shouldn't you?"

Schuldig stared at the floor until Crawford snapped, "Answer Herr Dorfmann!"

"Yes," said Schuldig in a sullen tone, "I should respect Herr Crawford."

"He is generally obedient," said Crawford easily. "A lesson now and then is all he requires."  
Schuldig looked angry in truth, but he kept silent, which was all Crawford had hoped for. When they had been told earlier that they were to journey to Japan the lad had burst forth in streams of invective, complaining that he was worked too hard and had been promised time to rest. Crawford had had to slap him before he said too much and showed he was not the dependent tool he was meant to be. He had made Crawford look weak, as if he could not control those under him, and Crawford found he did not regret very much the force he had put behind the blow.

"Well," said Dorfmann, dismissing Schuldig's conduct from his mind, "we do not have another mind reader to give you, so he will have to do. You and he will report to Frulein Jensen, who will aid you with your first steps in the language. You are lucky it will take so long to get to Japan, you may study along the way. I believe it is very lovely in the springtime, so you can think yourself lucky a second time, that you will arrive to beauty."

Crawford kept his face impassive, noting Schuldig wore an air of depressed silence. He kept his thoughts on their work, and how efficient a team they made. It would not do to have the lad marked down for the future use of another team. He idly crossed the room and interposed himself a little between Dorfmann and Schuldig. It did not look like protection, he knew, but rather as a man guarding a possession.

"I have a gift for you, Crawford," said Dorfmann, smiling pleasantly. "Something that I hope you may use to great advantage."

"Yes?" said Crawford warily, "what gift is that?"

Dorfmann opened the door, saying, "You may come in now." Into the room came a youth, shorter than Schuldig, and with his white-blond hair shorn almost to the scalp, as the usual length was for students. Crawford looked at him without expression, noting the young face whose almost delicate features were marred by scars. These were not the scars so many of the students bore, marking not his cheeks but carved instead across his whole face from side to side. One was marked deeply across his left eye-socket and brow, the ruin of the eye thankfully concealed beneath an eye patch. The lad stood there quietly, arms loose by his side, watching them all through his lone, and queerly coloured remaining eye, that seemed golden in the gas light.

"What am I to do with this?" said Crawford in some distaste. "What good is a half-blind boy? No one who sees him will forget him. What can he do?"

Dorfmann smiled, and turned to the youth. "Kill them," he said.

Without warning, and without any cry the boy flung himself forward, one arm striking out in a blow designed to crush Crawford's windpipe. Crawford leapt back, shocked that he had not foreseen the attack, and dodged the hand aiming for his face. Schuldig sprang forward with a cry, and flung himself upon the youth who twisted in his grasp like an eel, turning and bringing a knee up hard. As Schuldig fell back, gasping and swearing, the boy kicked his feet from under him, and only Schuldig's speed saved him from the second kick that would have smashed into his face. Crawford seized the boy's arm, twisting it back as he delivered as hard a punch as he could to the youth's kidneys, but the boy did not seem to notice, and grappled him, biting at his arm. Schuldig came to his feet and, picking up a chair, hit the boy across the back, making both Crawford and he stagger, but once more the youth appeared to ignore the attack, turning viciously upon Schuldig once more.

"Stop!" cried Dorfmann, and the youth stood still at once. Crawford and Schuldig, panting for breath, looked incredulously at each other and at the fair haired youth. "This is Farfarello," said Dorfmann. "He is a fighter, who will continue the combat as long as you do not command him to stop. He feels no pain, so you need not worry that he will shrink from his duty. He is perhaps not a precise weapon, Crawford, but he is an effective one."

"What happened to his face?" asked Schuldig in fascinated disgust.

Dorfmann smiled gently, and came over, reaching out and stroking the scars on Schuldig's own cheeks gently. "Some foolish children," said Dorfmann, "have too much energy after their lessons, and must inflict further damage upon themselves. It seems that in one such incident this lad became excitable, and rather than stop when blood had been drawn, rushed forwards into his enemy's sword. The other boy was forced to take severe measures to protect himself, or at least, that is what the other students present at that time finally told us. There wasn't enough left of the other boy to ask him." He smiled at Schuldig once more, fondly as if the lad were a favourite nephew, and taking, as it seemed some pleasure from the lad's rigid and fearful stance. At last he took his hand from Schuldig's face, and the boy did not look quite so pale.

"Is that true?" said Crawford to Farfarello.

"You may answer," said Dorfmann.

"Yes," said Farfarello softly.

"He is obedient, quiet and respectful," said Dorfmann, "and will need little training to suit your needs. He will certainly cause you less embarrassment than this stupid boy, although as he feels no pain nor, as far as can be ascertained, much of anything else, he is perhaps less likely to afford you amusement."

Crawford said nothing, regarding his new acquisition with interest. He turned finally to Dorfmann, saying, "My thanks. I am sure he will be of use."

Dorfmann nodded, and without another word, left them alone. Schuldig walked up to Farfarello, scrubbing a hand at his cheek where Dorfmann had touched him. "And do you do anything else but fight?" he asked sourly, then backed off, a wary expression on his face. "His mind," he said to Crawford, "he's mad. You've been given faulty goods, Crawford."

"He doesn't need to be sane to fight," said Crawford, not liking the way in which Farfarello and Schuldig regarded each other. "You are not to fight each other," he said. "Do you both hear me?"

"Yes," said Farfarello at once.

Schuldig sneered, saying, "A talkative fellow. You will be good company, I am sure."

"No fighting," repeated Crawford. "We are to be a team." He ignored Schuldig's look of entreaty, although he too felt it an imposition to have someone intrude upon their privacy. They had not, he felt, had enough time together since they had left the Balkans.

"What do you enjoy?" he asked Farfarello, thinking they should get to know one another.

The youth's tone did not change at all as he replied, "Killing."

Crawford nodded. "There will be enough of that, no doubt. And what of your dislikes?"

"God," answered the youth, at once becoming more animated. "If I can draw him out of hiding it won't be him that walks away." Crawford and Schuldig regarded him in perfect silence, and Farfarello smiled at them, very sweetly, like a child that knows himself beloved.

" _Frhliches Weihnachten_ , Crawford," muttered Schuldig. " _Frhliches verdammtes Weihnachten._ "

Crawford sighed. It would be a merry Christmas indeed.

  


* * *

  
_New London Garrison, 1880_

  
Farfarello made himself comfortable, leaning against the wall and looking over the parapet as the Martians came forward again in a wave of screaming warriors and fearsome clawed beasts. There were plenty of them to kill, and he took his time, picking off the better looking ones, or the ones wearing more of one colour than another, or ones who were particularly tall or short, depending on his whim at the time. It was all one to him, like a training session firing at targets. Beside him Crawford and Schuldig were doing likewise, calm and happy amidst the chaos of screaming Martians and screaming civilians. Farfarello itched to put a knife into the man on his other side, for the idiot whimpered and prayed without cease, and the words of the prayer and his whining voice were creeping into Farfarello's mind and repeating themselves there, over and over. The soldiers were different, aim and fire, aim and fire, without this whining, whimpering begging of the divine. It was, he thought, something he had not appreciated about the English army, that it trained its men to be quiet and do their work. "Please, Lord; please, Lord; please, Lord," the words in his mind said, a little out of step with the same words coming from the mouth of his neighbour on the wall. "Love your neighbour," the Bible said, which in Farfarello's estimation was another excellent reason to instead hate him, and put some inches of steel through his throat.

"Let's change positions," said Schuldig firmly, and put himself between Farfarello and the praying man.

"I would have waited till the attack was over," said Farfarello, annoyed to be thought so unprofessional. "Nagi! Where's that ammunition got to?"

Nagi pressed the cartridges into his waiting hand, giving some also to Crawford before rushing off to fetch more. The soldiers had wanted to put him with the women and children, but Crawford had held on tight and refused to let him go. A good thing, thought Farfarello, for the boy was making himself useful, bringing ammunition for their whole stretch of wall. He sighed as the Martians began to withdraw again.

"Can we not use the Winchesters?" he said in Japanese.

"Why use up our ammunition when we can use up the army's?" replied Crawford in that same tongue. "The natives will have their work cut out to cause much damage, unless they storm the gates with sheer numbers.

"There'll be questions asked if they find we have weapons and didn't use them today," said Schuldig with a tired smile. "Let us hope they don't find them, yes?"

"This is boring," said Farfarello. "Can these soldiers not earn their keep and go out and fight like men?" He glared down the wall at his erstwhile neighbour who had stopped praying, and who had opened his mouth to say something scathing about an Irishman who would dare to criticise the Queen's army. Seeing Farfarello's expression, he got no further than the first two words, and slunk away.

At night they slept with the other men evacuated from the town, all crowded in together in the large mess hall. It was noisy and unpleasant, the civilian men and boys having, as it seemed to men who had been students in Schloß Rosenkreuz, no discipline or courtesy towards others. They spoke too loudly, took up too much room, and during the night made a great deal of noise if it so happened that they needed to step outside. Crawford, feeling that they would get no sleep otherwise, divided the night into watches, and one by one they kept awake, ensuring the safety of the team. All of them found it easier to sleep in the continual disturbance as long as they knew a trustworthy person was awake to watch over them. Farfarello entertained himself on his watch with thoughts of how amusing it would be for the soldiers to come in after dawn broke and find all the civilians dead. He supposed Crawford would say it was not funny, and sighed, feeling himself unappreciated. No one, he thought, understood his jokes, or at least they claimed not to. He grinned as Schuldig muttered in his sleep, thinking he must say to the mind reader that he had been calling for his mother. If he could appear sincere for long enough, Schuldig would probably begin to shriek in annoyance, especially with the terrified civilians all about creeping into his mind. The mind reader was suffering a headache, Farfarello knew, from all the people thinking about dying on the end of a Martian spear. A full-blown temper tantrum was surely overdue. Better yet, he could say Schuldig had been calling for Crawford. He looked at his pocket watch and shook Nagi awake, thereafter settling himself down to sleep, a little smile playing about his lips.

"There's going to be a _sortie_ ," said Schuldig the next day. "Those officers are planning on retrieving the bodies of their dead." He pointed at three young men speaking together urgently. "What fools!"

"That's very brave of them," said Nagi, looking as if his mind were full of the tales of the heroic warriors of his native land.

"It's foolish," said Crawford. "What good does it do? It does not matter to the dead, and may well cost more of the defenders' lives. If the officers wish to raise the men's _morale_ they should use this to build up their hatred of the enemy, not to appeal to this English sentimentality."

"They're a sentimental people," said Farfarello. "Show them a dog, a horse or a dead soldier and they lose all sense." He sniggered, saying, "Show them all three at once and no doubt they would drown in their own tears." The others looked at him oddly, and he scowled. "You're no fun, none of you," he said.

"They should never have taught you any history," said Schuldig, going back to watching the soldiers running about in the courtyard below. "For you it all boils down into, 'oh, bedamned to the English!'"

"You would understand more if _your_ country --" started Farfarello.

"We don't _have_ countries," said Schuldig. " _I_ am a citizen of the world, and have every hope of one day ruling it. When I do, I'll let you go home and grow potatoes, should that be your heart's desire."

"Sausage eater," said Farfarello.

Schuldig laughed, saying, "Very weak, are you not feeling yourself? Let us take this up once more when you have rested and some better replies have suggested themselves to you." He pointed down towards the great gates. "Look, they have found some fools who wish to commit suicide." They watched the gates flung open and the small party of soldiers rush out, killing the few Martians who had come close to the walls, and seizing up the bodies of the slain from where the enemy had piled them up. Nagi squeezed his hands together in excitement as they sprinted back, a vast crowd of Martians screaming close behind them. Even as the gates crashed shut as the last stragglers came in, spears thudded into the thick wood.

"Pure luck," said Crawford in disgust. "If they had all been slaughtered there would be no _morale_ left to these fools."

"I think they were brave," said Nagi defiantly, blushing to disagree with Crawford. Farfarello hid his smile and caught the eye of Schuldig, who, it seemed, was attempting the same feat. Both of them turned aside, undergoing the same sudden fit of coughing.

"Well, then," said Crawford, a small smile on his own lips, "maybe you are right, Nagi. It was not a sensible thing to order, but it was brave of the soldiers who went."

The boy looked very relieved, to no longer be in opposition to Crawford's views, and Farfarello found it necessary not to look at him for a little longer, lest he burst out laughing and offend the child. He poked Schuldig's arm, thinking, "If Crawford said walking on one's feet was irrational, that lad would learn to walk on his hands by the end of the day." "Love is indeed a wonderful thing," thought Schuldig, leaning over the parapet and shooting a Martian who had ridden his huge clawed mount too near. "Ah, well, _I'm_ not the one fitted to make a judgement on that," thought Farfarello silkily, and grinned at the irritated look Schuldig gave him over his shoulder. Ah, thought Farfarello happily, the screaming tempter-tantrum was coming closer and closer. Schuldig opened his mouth, then very pointed closed it and looked like he was willing himself to be deaf.

Farfarello grinned. Life in the fortress was suddenly seeming more bearable.


	13. Chapter 13

_New York, 1876_

  
It was obvious, although perhaps only in retrospect, thought Crawford, that the problems had arisen as they in fact had. Now that they were safely far from Germany, he no longer considered it imprudent to wish ill-luck and torments upon Dorfmann and every other person in their organisation of a higher standing than he. Farfarello was not the quiet, obedient and respectful boy he had been represented as, and instead showed a disquieting competence at infuriating Schuldig, whether from a native evil character, or professional or personal jealousy, Crawford had as yet not determined. It was a foolish, or perhaps uncaring person who took it upon himself to gain the enmity of a mind reader, especially one as powerful as Schuldig. It was more foolish yet, thought Crawford grimly, to gain the enmity of a mind reader who was the particular friend of one's team leader. He was weary of seeing trouble before them, and separating the two lads before it could fully erupt. He was wearier yet of Schuldig's ranting when they were alone, for it seemed to him that the lad wanted some proof of affection that Crawford could not, in all conscience give. Farfarello was part of their team, whether they liked it or not, and could not be easily removed. It did not matter that he pretended not to understand German when Schuldig spoke it to him, nor that he rudely impersonated Schuldig's accent when at last Schuldig in fury gave in and spoke English, nor that he merely laughed when Schuldig returned the favour and offered to correct him so that the impersonation would be more accurate. It did not matter that he drew knives across his own skin when Schuldig was sure to see and be disgusted. It did not even matter that one night when Schuldig had fallen asleep very drunk that Farfarello had nimbly and carefully spent an hour putting the lad's hair in curlers so that the next morning Schuldig awoke with not only a terrible headache, but also long red ringlets. Crawford smiled despite himself at that memory, remembering Schuldig's fit of screaming rage and Farfarello laughing so hard he had not even tried to defend himself. Schuldig had never allowed himself to be so drunk thereafter, which was, Crawford thought, a benefit from the affair.

So far they had not drawn weapons on each other, and Crawford was working as hard as he could to keep it that way. "Do not provoke him so," he said to Farfarello, getting the immediate, quiet, obedient and respectful assent that was no more than a lie. "Do not respond when he teases you," he said to Schuldig, getting a stream of complaints and demands that Crawford take Schuldig's part immediately and completely. "You are acting like stupid boys and you will stop," he said to both of them, and got silence and the sense that they would conspire against him to continue their feuding.

"He shrieks like a girl," said Farfarello, when Crawford demanded an explanation for the campaign. The youth grinned in a most disconcerting manner, the scars across his face making the cheerful expression something out of horror. "I like that."

"He is the stupidest, most repellent creature with whom I've been asked to work," said Schuldig, when asked why he could not simply ignore the jibes. The lad clutched Crawford's arm in frustration. "His whole existence annoys me."

"He is your teammate, and you need to learn to work with him," said Crawford to Farfarello, adding after a thoughtful pause, "I don't want to read anything about you and girls in the papers, do you understand, Farfarello?"

"He has been put on our team, and we must learn to tolerate him," he said to Schuldig, tucking a strand of hair behind the lad's ear and smiling as he shook it free at once. "I know you would prefer it to be just the two of us, but we must make the best of things."

It was, he thought, a great relief to send them about different errands and to take some time to himself, buying up necessary things for their travels and making arrangements for them to journey by train to California, from where they would take ship for Japan. It would also, he thought, be a relief to bid farewell to this Yankee city, although he not allow himself to think further on old allegiances and his origins than that thought. He bought himself a newspaper, and retired to the hotel to read it, revelling in the silence and the quiet service of the hotel's waiters, who brought him coffee and food and then left him in blessed peace. His peace was shattered, however, as he read a story of some terrible murder in one of the city's many churches, wherein a priest had lost his life, and an altar boy who had, it seemed, witnessed the murder, claimed the devil himself had come into the church. The story as reported was discreet, hinting at horrors, but describing none of them in any clear manner. As Crawford read, however, he caught glimpses of a hand holding a thin-bladed knife of the type Farfarello favoured, the forearm bandaged exactly where Farfarello had cut himself the previous day. He frowned, and closed his eyes, concentrating. The reported murder had taken place before Farfarello had needed that bandage, this was most assuredly a vision. "Where?" he thought, "And when?" Images of blood-spattered walls and sounds of screaming intruded into his brain, but he endured it, forcing himself to think of when this might happen. When he opened his eyes he found that his coffee had gone stone cold, and a waiter stood by him, an anxious look on his face.

"Are you all right, sir?" the waiter asked.

"Yes," said Crawford, in as strong a voice as he could at that moment manage. "Thank you." He left some coins on the table as a gratuity, and retired to his room, where he awaited Schuldig's arrival.

When Schuldig came at last, gleefully bearing with him a new hat, Crawford appraised him of the contents of his vision, and a wide and unpleasant smile spread across Schuldig's face.

"Let us alert the police!" he cried, "can you not see this is our opportunity, Crawford? We can be rid of him at last!"

"Wait," said Crawford. "Think of the consequences. He could lead the police to us, and worse, would we not be seen as incompetent by our masters? I am loathe to throw away a member of my team, and even more so if in so doing I endanger you and I. Do you not see that I might lose my standing, if I am seen as unable to keep the two of you out of obvious trouble? We are not to expose ourselves until the time has been judged right, you know that."

"I have never done anything that has been reported in the papers," said Schuldig sulkily. "Why do you favour this madman so? I believe you begin to prefer him to me."

Crawford sighed, but gave the proof of friendship for which he knew he was being asked, drawing Schuldig into an embrace and holding him tight. "I do not," he said. "You know that. It is in order to protect you that we must learn to control him and work with him."

"I do not need protection," said Schuldig, leaning into the embrace. "But to oblige you, I will do as you ask in this."

"Thank you," said Crawford, not troubling to disguise the smile and receiving one in return. "Let us prepare."

Having put all preparations in order, and had moreover a pleasant dinner shared only by themselves, Crawford and Schuldig went out into the cold winter evening, avoiding the piles of filthy snow that had been swept to the edges of the sidewalks.

"I would rather we went to the theatre," said Schuldig, "how rude of Farfarello to put us to this trouble."

"I will take you to the theatre before we go," said Crawford, feeling generous now that Schuldig was doing as he wished him to. "We can do anything you like once this has been dealt with."

"A late meal in some fashionable spot, and then all your attention for the rest of the evening," said Schuldig, drawing his collar up. "That will suffice until I have spent some time considering how I may hold you to your promise."

Crawford laughed, saying, "This way. I am sure it is this way." He led them through the streets to a church of the Roman Catholic faith, and a flash of his vision came back to him. "This is it," he said.

Schuldig closed his eyes, and swayed. " _Ach!_ " he ejaculated, "yes, he is here, and busy." His eyes, when he opened them, were somewhat unfocused and an evil smile played about his lips, one unlike his normal expression.

"Schuldig," said Crawford warningly. "Do not get caught up."

"No," said Schuldig looking at once more alert. "Let us go in."

They slipped into the church, finding it dark but for a few candles burning in the sanctuary. The red light denoting the Presence was extinguished, and a curious noise was to be heard. Crawford identified it after a second as a voice gone beyond screaming, now reduced to a muffled whine. Over it rose a boyish whistling, as if Farfarello were engaged in a harmless pursuit. Crawford led the way, stopping at the sight before him. The crucifix had been stripped from the wall, and now lay upon the floor, the sad-face figure of the Saviour lying at some way further off, having it seemed, been removed from the cross by brute strength. On the cross was now nailed what Crawford assumed to be the priest, a strip torn from his discarded cassock thrust into his mouth as a gag. The knives Farfarello favoured for close work were excellent for skinning, a fact Farfarello had apparently been intent on proving. There was blood everywhere.

"Farfarello," said Crawford in icy tones. "Stop."

"You have to tie the arms on tightly," said Farfarello mildly, "the nails in the hands aren't enough." He smiled a ghastly and somehow innocent smile. "I learned that before."

"You madman," said Schuldig, "why have you done this?"

"He deserved it," said Farfarello in surprise. "He couldn't answer my questions, and then he started begging God to let him die. I'll oblige him eventually."

"We're leaving," said Crawford. "Come along."

"I won't be long," said Farfarello, and cried out in surprise as Schuldig seized him, pulling him back.

"Now! You fool, you do as you're told!" cried Schuldig.

"Not by you," said Farfarello, and then looked most surprised as he took one jerky step after another away from the cross. "Get out of my mind, you gurrier!" he yelled and ran straight at Schuldig, who danced aside, kicking at him as he went past. Farfarello turned swiftly and delivered a blow to Schuldig's chest, pulling out another knife as the mind reader stepped back. Crawford leapt on him.

"Stop!" he cried, "both of you!" He bore Farfarello down, and pinned him as well as he could, kneeling on his elbow so that he could not strike out with the knife. Schuldig flung himself down too, pinning Farfarello's other arm and pulling out a knife of his own. He reversed his grip on it to stab down, and Crawford pushed him aside, giving Farfarello the opportunity to wriggle free and snatch up his knife once more. "Stop this!" roared Crawford as the others circled around, each seeking an opening to exploit. All too clearly his vision showed them killing each other, and then, all at once he caught a glimpse of a different future. A painful one, he knew, but one from which there was recovery and a different path to take. He jumped between them and tried not to disgrace himself with undue noise as Farfarello's knife took him in the arm as he'd intended. Schuldig surprised him, he thought dimly, the lad's unnatural swiftness allowing him to turn aside his blade at the last instant.

"Crawford!" ejaculated Schuldig, grasping him in his arms. " _Crawford!_ Ach, _Gott in Himmel_ , you've killed him, you fool!"

Over the rushing sound of his own heartbeat, Crawford heard the clatter as Farfarello dropped the knife.

"I didn't mean to," said Farfarello in a frightened, youthful voice. "I didn't! Crawford, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!"

Crawford gasped in pain and forced himself to stand straight, setting Schuldig back gently. "You see what happens when you fight a teammate," he said harshly. "No more of this, from either of you." He glared at them, and they looked back with meek, scared eyes, nodding. He sank into a pew, and Schuldig stripped off his coat, exclaiming at the wound. "It's clean, it'll heal," Crawford murmured in his ear.

Schuldig pulled back, looking at him. "You did that on purpose, you knew you'd be wounded," he said.

"Let him figure it out for himself," said Crawford, "if he ever does."

Schuldig kissed him briefly, and bound up the wound while Farfarello stood by nervously, apologising every time Crawford looked in his direction.

"I didn't mean for you to see this, I didn't mean for you to get hurt, I _didn't_ ,' he said, when Crawford had carefully eased his coat up to rest on his shoulder.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Crawford, indicating the mess in the sanctuary.

Farfarello looked down, swallowing hard. "God," he said. "God hurts and kills and I want him to feel it, I want him to know what it's like to lose one of his family. But I'd never have hurt you on purpose, Crawford, you're not one of his."

"No, I grant you that," said Crawford dryly. He stood, saying, "No more of this, Farfarello."

"I can't help it," whispered Farfarello, "it gets in my head and I can't get it out, and I think of that Murderer and I find myself a church, and I could tell you it won't happen again, Crawford, but it will."

"He thinks God killed his family," Schuldig's voice whispered into Crawford's mind. Crawford absorbed the details and nodded.

"Your sister was four, was she not?" he asked. "And you were a good big brother to her?" Tears ran down Farfarello's scarred face as he nodded, accepting, it seemed that Crawford should know this. "And you loved your parents?" Crawford went on, mercilessly, "and God killed them all. And--" he paused as Schuldig slipped more information into his mind, "and Sister Ruth, one of his own holy nuns. No wonder you hate him."

"She tried to tell me God was a murderer," said Farfarello, weeping openly, "she tried to warn me, so I could save them, but he killed them all before she could. I had to work it out for myself." He knelt on the stone floor, covering his face with his blood-stained hands.

Crawford put a hand kindly on his shoulder, saying, "I understand, Schuldig understands. We don't blame you for wanting revenge. Come on, Farfarello, let's go back to the hotel. You're not at fault. Just make sure you cover your tracks in future, all right? Schuldig, make sure that priest is dead and pick up anything we dropped."

Farfarello stood shakily, wiping at his eyes. "You forgive me?" he asked in a wondering tone.

"Yes," Crawford said firmly. "You just forgot that we're your family now. But you won't forget again, will you?"

"No," said Farfarello, shivering. "No. Let's get out of here, the angels are watching us."

"They can't do anything to you now," said Crawford reassuringly, leading him out of the church. "We're on your side. We'll always be on your side."

He decided it was best not to acknowledge the look on Schuldig's face.

  


* * *

  
 _New London, 1880_

  
Nagi lay awake, disconsolate and feeling as if he were to blame for the bad things that had happened over the last day. The civilians had remained in the garrison fortress even after the Martians had given up the siege, and simply drifted away, group by group. As it became more widely know that they were going and then gone, the people of the city became more and more vocal in their demands for more food, better food, for the army to both go out and chase the Martians all the way back to the hills and to stay and protect them. Looking back over the course of their time in the fort, Nagi could see very well the signs of strain writ clear on Schuldig's face, the lines about his eyes, and the way it seemed as if he held himself still for fear of shattering. Farfarello had known, Nagi thought, thinking of the way Farfarello had been so solicitous of Schuldig's welfare, always making sure he had the best of the food they were given, and the cosiest of the blankets to protect him from the surprising chill of the night. Schuldig's snappishness when faced with such care was a sign of the stress the crowd of people had placed upon him, thought Nagi.

The trouble came on the very last day, although none of them, not even Crawford had known it for such. Standing on the walkway about the wall, Nagi and Schuldig were merely looking out over the dry landscape, not saying anything that could possibly offend anyone. As they did so, one of the men of the city pushed rudely past, saying as he did so, "Get out of my way, you little savage."

Nagi staggered dangerously close to the edge of the walkway, only to be grabbed by Schuldig. He blinked in surprise, rubbing his shoulder where the man had shoved him, and looked up to see Schuldig move, standing square before the man.

"Apologise," said Schuldig.

"What?" said the man in annoyance.

"Apologise to my friend," said Schuldig in the queerly flat, even tones Nagi had heard him use before killing.

"Is he not your servant?" asked the man. Nagi saw Schuldig's face change, going at first very pale and then a heightened colour.

"What did you call me?" he said.

"I said nothing," said the man, stepping back as Schuldig stepped forward.

"You called me a damned Prussian invert," said Schuldig in a fury, and hit the man so fast that Nagi saw only the aftermath as the man wheezed and fell over. "You fat English fool," shrieked Schuldig, kicking the fallen man hard, "do I sound Prussian to you?" Nagi grabbed his arm, and was shaken off. Down below he saw Crawford sprinting for the stairs.

"Hold him, Nagi!" cried Crawford, and Nagi grabbed on to Schuldig once again, trying to pull him from his victim, and crying out as he was hit soundly on the side of the head and flung off again. Nagi heard other feet running towards them, and looked up to see Schuldig's arm seized by one of the officers of the garrison.

"Stop, man!" cried the young officer. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"

"Get your hand off me," said Schuldig unpleasantly, "unless you want me to remove it for you permanently."

"Schuldig!" cried Crawford, rushing up and taking his other arm. "Calm down! Sir, I assure you that this is most unlike him, he is suffering perhaps from the heat, is that not so, Schuldig?"

He pulled the struggling Schuldig away from the officer, holding on to him tightly, and the officer helped up the fallen man, who looked dazed and bruised.

"Are you all right?" asked the officer.

"This man --" cried the wounded man, "this man --" he paused, as if forgetting what it was he would say, and looked upon the officer in confusion. "I started this, I offended this gentleman," he said slowly, "I'm a terrible fool and he's right to seek satisfaction."

"Swords or pistols!" screamed Schuldig, "In either case you're a dead man!"

"Be silent!" cried the officer. "There will be no fighting!"

" _Ja_ ," said Schuldig, "I have seen that is your best military tactic."

"I believe you are drunk, sir," said the officer in disgust, and called down to the soldiers below who looked up in interest, "you there! Come up here and take these men into custody!"

"Yes sir, Mr Bracy!" cried one of the soldiers, and several of them ran for the stairs.

"Wait," said Crawford, taking note of the officer's rank from his uniform, "is this necessary, Lieutenant? My associate is not drunk, rather it is as I have said, the heat of the day."

"It's my fault," cried Nagi, seizing the officer's hand. "Schuldig was taking care of me, this man pushed me and I nearly fell! It's not his fault."

"Lad," said the young lieutenant, "I can't tolerate fighting here. Your friend should learn some temperate behaviour. I saw him with my own eyes, fighting this gentleman - who has also admitted fighting. Men!" he went on, addressing the soldiers, "take both of them to detention. We shall sort this out when everyone's temper has cooled down."

"Don't make this any worse," said Crawford sternly as Schuldig screamed obscenities in German. "Schuldig! Remember some sense."

Schuldig looked at him in anger, and fell silent. He turned about, snapping at the soldiers, "Do not touch me," and walked off in their midst, the other man accompanying them also.

"I hope to see no more of this disgraceful behaviour," said the officer angrily.

"You are not alone in that, Lieutenant," said Crawford. "This will not happen again, you have my word."

"Good," said the officer, and walked off.

"This is my fault," said Nagi unhappily, not feeling any comfort when Crawford put an arm about him.

When Schuldig was released, having endured a humiliating series of lectures on proper behaviour, and the city was finally judged safe enough for the civilians to return to their homes and businesses, Nagi felt no better, though Schuldig laughed and tousled his hair. The evidence of the Martian army was everywhere, though Crawford said little real damage seemed to have been done. Windows were broken and items looted from shops, but their own belongings seemed to be more or less untouched. The hotel had been looted, but the items that had been stolen seemed to be the food from the kitchens and the gaudier of the appointments of the lobby. While the guests' rooms had been turned upside down, nothing of the belongings carefully hidden by Crawford and Schuldig had been discovered, as Schuldig had triumphantly reported, lifting the floorboard they had carefully cut through to show the stored ammunition. The little tins of the tooth powder favoured by Crawford had been flung everywhere, making the whole room dusty and smelling faintly of peppermint, but it was, as Crawford said, nothing that could not be solved by some cleaning. The rooms on the very top floor, occupied by the staff of the hotel and guests' servants were completely untouched, and so Nagi and Farfarello could sleep in their own beds.

Nagi, however, could not sleep. Even two days after returning to the hotel, when the guests' rooms had been made as presentable as they might be, and any person who took in washing had been employed in addition to the hotel's laundry to make everything clean once more, Nagi lay awake. All about him he could feel people worrying, fearing that the Martians would return, or that they had never left, and the Martians employed in the city would rise up and join them in a great slaughter. It did not make for an easy night, and Nagi was convinced that he would never sleep again. Every time he tried he felt himself slipping towards nightmares.

"Farfarello?" he said quietly, but there was no response. After some hours, or so it seemed to his youthful estimation, Nagi slipped from the bed and crept out of the room. The man in the next room, a valet to another guest, was dreaming of terrors, and Nagi shuddered as he crept past. The whole hotel seemed to reek of fear and hatred. He walked as quickly and as silently as he could to the stairs, and went down. At last he stood before Crawford and Schuldig's door, and scratched at it quietly, for he was by no means foolish enough to enter their room without giving warning. Some minutes passed and he scratched again, this time being quickly answered as the door opened and Schuldig peered out sleepily.

"Nagi," he said quietly, "what is it?"

"I can't sleep," said Nagi, "everyone's scared. It's worse than the fortress, they were all too tired to worry much then."

Schuldig drew him into the room, locking the door securely. "Come on," he yawned, pushing Nagi ahead of him. "It's just Nagi," he said, as Crawford made a tired query, "the fear in this place is keeping him awake." He tossed off his dressing-gown, urging Nagi into the bed, where the boy curled between him and Crawford, who moved over to make space. Nagi snuggled into the warmth and felt immediately more peaceful as Schuldig put his fingers at the base of his skull and it seemed to Nagi that walls erected themselves about his mind. He could no longer feel the whole hotel, as it seemed to him, and sighed deeply.

"Are you all right now?" murmured Crawford in his ear.

"Yes," said Nagi, and at once worried that he would be told he was no longer a child who needed such comfort and would be sent back upstairs.

"Not tonight," said Schuldig sleepily, and Nagi smiled. "Go to sleep, _Kaninchen_."

When he awoke he found that, although they had moved to give him some decent space in the night, in their sleep both Crawford and Schuldig had, as he had always found on these occasions, moved closer to the centre of the bed and wrapped their arms about him. It pleased him greatly to be included in such closeness, and he liked to imagine them waking up in such a cosy manner every day. He lay quietly, so as not to disturb them, for it was a pleasure that would be cut short when they awoke. Even as he thought this, Crawford stirred, lifting his head and peering short-sightedly at Nagi in mild amusement.

"Nagi," he said, "so I wasn't dreaming. Good morning."

"Good morning," said Nagi happily as Crawford disentangled himself and, propping himself on one elbow, leaned across the boy to shake Schuldig gently.

"Schuldig," he said, "it is morning. Are you going to get up?"

Schuldig opened one eye a tiny amount and looked at the world in horror.

"Nnnnng," he said, and, wrapping his arms about Nagi tighter in the manner of a child holding on to a teddy bear, fell soundly back asleep. Nagi felt this to be a marvellous idea, and closed his own eyes sleepily, barely hearing Crawford's quiet laugh, or feeling the touch of lips against his cheek before slumber claimed him back into its soft folds. Safe and warm and comfortable, the boy dreamed only of happy things.


	14. Chapter 14

_New London, 1880_

  
The day, as were all days, was hot and cloudless, the sun a yellow and malevolent presence in the sky, scarce smaller it seemed than when viewed from the Earth. The light breeze whipped up the brick red dust of the ground, casting it upwards into the eyes of passers-by whenever two cross winds met. The streets of New London were paved with fine stones, replaced in part by the efforts of the English inhabitants for those stones, it seemed had over time proves irresistible to the Martians who had taken some and made for themselves dwellings that did not strive to touch the sky as did the ancient towers. What had driven the native princes from their lofty habitations no one knew, nor even that those that had lived in the towers were in truth princes. The Martian natives of more recent times, so the scholars said, were a meaner sort of people who looked upon the remnants of their past greatness with awe, esteeming the builders to be gods and heroes, and who could not and would not ever again emulate their skills. Indeed, the Martians of New London seemed not to notice the splendour about which they dwelt, nor had they made any complaint when the towers were taken for the offices of the colonising power, being, as it were, placid and resigned, unlike their more hot-headed and more barbaric cousins who dwelt in the hill country. Hard it would be to imagine those fierce warriors who had but lately come down upon the city in fury in the guise of those who worked and lived within it, making their living by working in what was becoming more and more an English city as more and yet more persons seeking a new life came to live within it. As the people said with pride, the Martians of New London were almost civilised, and were happy of the benefits of British rule, sending their children to schools and cheerfully availing of the best of British science and medicine.

"Oh, you had your own ways," thought Farfarello, walking idly down the street in the not yet searing morning sunshine. "Everyone had their own ways once, but we're all turned English now." He bought some food from a stall by the side of the road, for he had seen none but Martians patronise it. The food was hot and had an odd taste, as far as he could tell, but what that taste was he could not be sure, although it was necessarily quite pungent, as he could detect it. Food was of little interest to him, other than as a mere necessity of life that he ingested regularly in order to function. Strong drink, that downfall of so many of his people, was of less interest yet, for by the time he had consumed enough to feel its effects he was merely bored beyond belief. How a man could find enough interest in either food or drink to become a glutton or a drunkard was beyond him. Not for him, such common vices, for they slowed the body and dulled the mind and he had no doubt that if he could force himself to consume enough of either they would do likewise to him. People, he thought, people were his vice. He liked them, liked looking at the glossy sheen of their little lives as they went about their business all the while unknowing of him moving amongst them in the manner, as it were, of a dangerous beast amongst the silly, over-fed cattle. They went about, attributing their successes and failures to a power greater than then, one which they must appease and cajole. They did not know what it was to be a free man, one who made of himself what he would and would, one day, openly rule over them as they openly ruled over the natives of the world they had come to tame and subjugate. It seemed to Farfarello that these people might indeed question whether he was free, for did he not also stand under authority? Crawford said "Go," and he went, or "Come," and he came, and was himself subject to the authority of others. However, reasoned Farfarello, such a thought was false, for Crawford and all others of their organisation were free in ways these people could never understand, having cast off the chains of convention, superstition and morality that kept others within their narrow, circumscribed lives. All such things were mere lies told to children to keep them obedient when their masters were not looking. He had seen the truth, and no man could control him more. He consented to obey, that was all, and only because a man like Crawford was also free and rational, and knew truth from lies.

He seated himself in a verdant park, looking at the little rainbows created by the fall of water in the fountains and laughing inwardly at such wasteful display. It was not practical, he thought, to grow flowers and grass and trees. Better by far to grow vegetables and fruit. The thought propelled him upward, for he meant to seek out one of the expensive sellers of European fruits and see what he might purchase. Nagi loved fruit and would be grateful for a treat, and besides it would make him forget how Farfarello had ignored him the previous night. Although it was not good for the boy, he thought, to be spoiled so by Crawford, it was amusing to see his face light up with pleasure. And, he told himself, it was practical to buy little things for him. It was like training an animal, in the course of which kindness worked so much better than cruelty. Crawford was of that opinion, and Farfarello had come to see the wisdom of it. Crawford's kindness had tamed both him and Schuldig, after all.

Thinking in this vein, he walked along, his mind clear and even. He found a grocer's, and spent some time choosing the oranges he wished to purchase, those great golden fruit finding the heat of Mars to their liking. Having bought a bag of oranges and, on a whim, some mint humbugs at a price that made him whistle, Farfarello strolled out once more, exploring happily and contentedly. As ever, his steps slowed as he passed the church he had seen, tucked out of the way down a side street. Few people walked past it except when a service was held, he was sure of it. He took a step round the corner and paused. He had not done this for a long time, for months and months, all through their time in London and the long, boring voyage. Crawford would not be pleased with him to do it now. "Well," he thought, "and if he isn't? I am a free, rational man like him, and can make my own decisions. There are few enough witnesses around, and there's bound to be a quiet little back door." He decided he would make a bargain. If God didn't want any of his priests killed, there wouldn't be any in the church. He'd even wait so they could get out. He leaned against the wall and popped one of the sweets into his mouth. The sweet, strong mint tasted as fine and nice as he'd expected, and if he closed his eye he felt a chill wind and rain against his face, a pleasant change from the heat of the sun. He opened his eye and felt dazzled by the light. Impatiently he crunched up the sweet and strode past the church, ducking down an even smaller laneway to find the door he had known must be there. It was open, as if someone wanted him to come in. He closed and locked it behind him.

Inside, the building was dark, lit in bright harsh patches where the sunlight streamed through windows. Farfarello idly tried each door he came to, peeping in to see if anyone might be hiding from him. He found no one, and opened the door into the body of the church, where great splashes of colour from the stained glass windows covered the floor and walls. A soft cry attracted his attention, and he saw a man in a black suit, with a dog collar, attempt to chase away one of the tiny bat-like creatures that seemed to inhabit the buildings of the city. With high pitched squeaks it flew about in confusion, and Farfarello laughed.

"Let me give you a hand there, Father," he said, and together they managed to herd the little creature out into the sunlight, where it flew up and hid above the door.

"Thank you," said the priest, "the poor little thing belongs outdoors."

Farfarello carefully shut the door behind him. "I have some questions, Father," he said. "And I was wondering if you might hear my confession?"

"I am a minister of the Church of England," said the priest politely. "I can tell you where you might find a Roman Catholic church, if you would like."

"That would be very helpful," said Farfarello, "but although I was baptised a Catholic, I find myself questioning that faith. I think I would be interested in hearing your views too."

"Well," said the priest, "if I can be of any help, of course I will gladly speak to you."

"My first question," said Farfarello, "is, do you believe in evil?"

"Yes," said the priest, "yes, most certainly."

Farfarello smiled, setting his bags of oranges and sweets carefully out of the way. "So do I, Father," he said. "So do I."

  


* * *

  
 _New London Garrison, 1880_

  
Having carried out his appointed tasks for the day, Lieutenant Bracy found himself able to take his ease and call his time his own. At last he had dealt with all the day's allocation of cases the townspeople had brought, seeking redress for the damage done to them by the Martian army. He smiled to himself to remember Roberts eagerly passing the cases his way, for although his friend was a fine soldier, his patience with civilian complaints was not always overly long, and he felt moreover that he was looked at as a man too simple to understand the complex calculations of costs brought before him. Bracy himself had paid no more attention when the mysteries of mathematics had been laid before them by their old schoolmaster, with an air of spreading wondrous jewels before boy-shaped swine, but he had discovered within himself a capacity for hearing solemnly the complaints brought by the townspeople which alleviated somewhat their annoyance when he sorrowfully told them that the army could not help in this matter and that perhaps they should apply to the civilian authorities in the colonial office.

"Let them agree once more to martial law," said Roberts, when Bracy sat with a sigh of pleasure in their house to take his tea, "and then perhaps the army might pay for their damages. Do you know they refused an offer from the garrison to build walls about at least part of the city? Colonel Graves said it was recommended most strongly to them ten years ago, and they would not, saying it spoilt the view. The view! An old-fashioned enemy force such as are faced here might be deterred by an old-fashioned means, and they worried about the view! It would have given gainful employment to many men."

"Ah, Rob," said Bracy, "do not pretend with me! You see yourself in shining armour, defying the enemy from the parapets of a castle!"

Roberts drank his tea with great dignity, saying, "And what is it we have been doing here in the fort? I say, Bracy, wouldn't it have been fine to make another sally and fight them properly again before they left? Our boys were splendid, and it pains me to think of them mouldering away acting as nannies to those silly people."

"We are to protect those silly people, as you call them," laughed Bracy. "Although I cannot say I am sorry they have gone back to the city. Fights were breaking out, and I should hate to have seen their common sense break down any further."

"Ah, yes," said Roberts, "your German troublemaker. A rather queer chap, I thought, both in his manner and his appearance. There must be no barbers in Germany!"

"Englishmen were beginning to fight too," said Bracy, "we must not put all the blame on the excitable nature of Continentals. We cannot blame civilians for not having the discipline of trained army men."

"No, no," said Roberts, "Of course not. Oh, Bracy - if the next patrol reports that all still seems to be quiet, Colonel Graves has said he will begin to allow leave once more. We must see what opportunities this area has for hunting."

"That would be very fine," said Bracy, smiling at his friend, for he knew that Roberts was most eager to bag some trophy to show his family back in England. He finished his tea and stood, picking up his book of Martian grammar. "If you'll excuse me, Rob, I promised Gedge I should torment him further with the subjunctive mood today."

"What horrors!" said Roberts with a faint smile. "I wonder any of the boys still love you, when you inflict such unnatural pains upon them."

Bracy laughed easily, turning to go, only to find his way blocked by the servant who bowed politely.

"A soldier has come to see you, sir," the Martian said in his quiet way.

"To see me or Captain Roberts?" asked Bracy.

"You, sir," said the servant.

"Your little private is getting more eager," said Roberts, refilling his cup. "Go on, man, I will sit here like a wallflower till you return."

"You make a very delicate blossom," smiled Bracy, following the servant. Outside he found Colonel Graves' secretary, a Corporal Judkins, waiting patiently. "Judkins," he said, "what is it?"

"The colonel requests your presence immediately, Mr Bracy," said Judkins, saluting.

"Of course," said Bracy, and the two of them set out at a smart pace, quickly reaching the colonel's office.

"Lieutenant Bracy, sir," said Judkins, showing him in and shutting the door quietly behind him as he left.

"Good afternoon, sir," said Bracy, only at that moment realising he still held his grammar book in his hand.

"Bracy," said the colonel, "sit down, please. A most appalling thing has happened in the city."

"Sir?" cried Bracy in apprehension.

"The vicar of St Andrew's, one of the smaller of the churches in the city, has been found murdered," said the colonel, "in the most vile and cruel manner, a manner moreover, clearly intended to make mockery of Christian faith. The unfortunate woman who found him has made a statement." He held out some papers to Bracy, who took them and glanced through them, his eyes widening in horror at what he read.

"Despicable!" he cried. "Sir, this is beyond belief!"

"The woman, a respectable lady who helps to arrange the flowers," said the colonel, "is very vocal in her belief that some renegade native has done this, and her cries attracted a number of persons to the scene." He sighed, looking at his desk. "Bracy," he said, "we cannot allow a witch hunt against the natives of the city, we have seen how that goes in our colonies on Earth, and it is not conducive to either good order or justice. This has to be stopped before our already frightened citizens drive the natives into the arms of their fierce brethren."

"Surely that cannot happen?" said Bracy, "Are they not of different tribes, with an ancient enmity between them? The Martians here are our friends, Lieutenant Drummond assures me. He has had much experience of the native troops, sir."

"And the native troops in India were also judged perfectly loyal, sir, until they rose up and slaughtered the British!" said Colonel Graves in anger. "Are we to repeat the Sepoy rebellion here? No, sir, we are not!"

Bracy rose to his feet and came to attention. "I am sorry, sir," he said, "I did not mean --"

"Sit, man, sit," said the colonel. "You are young and think the best of everyone. I do not mean to impugn the loyalty of the native units, they are fine soldiers and, I am sure, fine men. Consider, however, the effects of rumours amongst the natives of being blamed so easily for this - an _agent provocateur_ from the enemy tribes could cause immeasurable damage to us."

"Yes, sir," said Bracy, and looked at the papers again, frowning. "Why have you told _me_ this, sir?" he asked.

"Since governance of the colony passed to the civilian authorities," said the colonel, "New London has not seen the need to set up a police force, despite the great growth in population. Minor crimes have been dealt with by the civil servants, who merely, it seems, record them and do little else. They have no one with the experience to investigate a crime of this horrible nature, and have asked for aid in the matter from the garrison. You have investigated a crime before, and I think, therefore you are the officer most suited to the task."

"Sir," said Bracy in horror, "I am no detective, a matter so vile as this --"

"Shall we wait some months to bring up a detective from Earth?" said the colonel. "How many innocent Martians, whose only crime is not to have outrun the mob, will be added to the tally of murders by then? How many will have learned to hate us and to plot our downfall? This must be dealt with swiftly, Bracy. I want the murderer found and hanged."

Bracy drew a deep breath. "Yes, sir," he said, "I will do everything in my power to discover the culprit. I will need some resources, Colonel Graves, some men to help me."

"Yes, of course," said the colonel. "Captain Roberts aided you before, he will be relieved of any duty but this, and the private with whom you carried out the investigation on the Moon --"

"Private Gedge, sir," said Bracy.

"Quite. Private Gedge also, and any other men you may feel will be of use to you. Any reasonable resources will be made available." Colonel Graves sighed, looking suddenly ill and older than his actual years. "Bracy," he said, "I cannot find it within me to believe that _this_ crime is the work of a British soldier. The New London garrison has been run, it seems to me, far better than the Victoria garrison, and no one has laid complaints at our door, neither Englishman nor Martian. However," he went on sternly, "should this indeed be the work of a soldier, you may rest assured that he will face the full rigour of the law. No one, of any race, can be allowed to act in this manner."

"No, sir," said Bracy fervently. "They cannot. If I might be excused, sir? I will gather men together at once."

"Yes," said Colonel Graves, "dismissed, Bracy. Find this monster and bring him to justice. This is British soil - let them all see that the rule of law runs in New London as it does in any other city of the empire."


	15. Chapter 15

_New London, 1880_

  
"You utter _fool_ ," said Crawford in contempt, pacing back and forth across the floor of the room adjoined to his bedroom that served Schuldig and him as a sitting room. "How could you do this _now?_ When we have not yet finished our preparations to leave? The whole city must know of it."

"It is a large enough city," said Farfarello calmly, "it will not be traced back to us. Are not people saying it was a Martian that did this?" He sat back comfortably, saying, "More tea, if you will, Nagi."

Nagi poured him another cup, looking warily between him and Crawford, who continued in his pacing. Schuldig was standing by the window, his arms crossed, looking down silently into the street.

"Well," said Crawford at last, "we must just hasten our preparations, that is all. Schuldig, the animals you have hired, can we take them earlier than planned?"

"I see no reason against it," said Schuldig in the tight voice that meant he was refusing to shout. "It can but cost more of our money, after all. I had hoped we would be here a while longer, but I suppose we are now all eager to journey into the desert. You will like it, I'm sure, Farfarello, it is hot and blinding, and the sand gets everywhere. After a week or so we will all become used to the smell of filth and sweat, and we will no longer regret being unable to wash ourselves."

Farfarello stayed silent, discovering as it seemed some prudence in his manner. Crawford sighed and sat at the desk, writing swift lists of what would be needed to be bought. "We must be discreet," he said, "it would not do to change our daily patterns to any great extent, lest in so doing we bring suspicion upon ourselves. We are already a queer group in the eyes of the good people of New London. Farfarello, are you sure you were not observed?"

"As sure as I can be," said Farfarello in a surly voice. At the look he received from Crawford he went on, saying, "No one saw me, Crawford, I am sure."

"Good," said Crawford, "be very circumspect in your movements over the next days. I mean it, Farfarello. Nagi, here is a list of things for you to buy. Should anyone try not to deal with you remember to speak your best English, and tell them clearly the items are for me and to be delivered to this hotel. Money will make them co-operate, even if courtesy will not. Schuldig, you deal with hiring the animals faster, I will hurry up the delivery of our supplies."

"What will they do to us, if they catch us?" asked Nagi.

"They won't," said Crawford. "Very well, let us go about these tasks. Farfarello, go to your room and stay there. I want people in this hotel to see what a quiet homebody you are."

Farfarello gave him a little smile, and left, wordlessly. Crawford held out a hand, detaining Nagi as he would have left with Schuldig. "Wait," he said, and put Nagi up beside the door frame, looking at him intently, and measuring with his eyes the distance between the boy's head and the top of the door. "They will not catch us, Nagi," he said. "But, should anything go amiss and you find yourself separated from us in this city, I want you to tell them you are no more than twelve, do you understand me? They will probably even believe you are eleven, if you act in the shy way you used to. Let them think you a much younger boy than you are, and they will treat you more leniently."

"You would not leave me behind, Crawford?" cried Nagi, and Crawford smiled at him.

"No, never. It is just it is best to plan for all eventualities. Wait a moment," he said, and stared at Nagi in a queer manner, letting his gaze swim out of focus and back in again. "Ah," he said, "I do not see you alone. We will all be out of the city together, Nagi. Still, tell no one your real age."

"I don't know it, anyway," said Nagi, and Crawford ruffled his hair, leading him out of the room. They parted in the street, Crawford going to ensure that the dried and packaged food they had ordered was ready and could be delivered to them at an earlier date, and that the good water they needed would also be delivered. Nagi scurried through the streets, taking care to look as child-like as he might, and therefore, in acting consciously in ways that he normally acting by nature, appearing rather like a boy over acting at boyishness. The small items that they had been buying in innocent amounts would now, as it seemed, need to be bought in memorable quantities. Accordingly, he went from shop to shop, buying the things that, as Schuldig said, one needed to live and those that made life worth living, and arranging for the delivery to their hotel of luxuries and necessities such as cigars and alcohol and medicines. Only in the pharmacist's did he encounter opposition, with the clerk unwilling to sell him laudanum, although he stated quite clearly that he was on business for his American employer.

"Let him come in and sign the poisons book, then," said the clerk. "I'm not selling it to you. How old are you, anyway?"

"Eleven," said Nagi, waiting to be challenged on such a lie.

"Huh," said the clerk, "I just can't tell with your sort. No, you tell your master he can come in hisself."

When Nagi had reached the hotel once again he waited impatiently for Crawford to return, and told him the news.

"We might need it," said Crawford. "I'll go and buy some tomorrow. You did well."

"I do not think it was just my age that made him refuse," said Nagi in annoyance.

"No doubt," said Crawford smiling at him, "you are every inch the cunning Oriental poisoner of legend. The small, cunning Oriental poisoner. Don't take it to heart. People are fools. _We_ know your worth." So saying he went to the desk and once more perused his lists, nodding in grim satisfaction at the amount that had already been achieved. When Schuldig returned, he looked up at him in expectation.

"Yes," said Schuldig, "we can take the beasts earlier than originally agreed. We shall need to practice riding them, perhaps. They are most dissimilar to horses. Tomorrow afternoon, I suggest, as there will be some free in the stables at that time."

"Very well," said Crawford, "and the guide?"

"Arranged for," said Schuldig with a smile. They had spoken already of the need for a guide, for no civilian European expedition journeyed into the hills without one. The guide who went with them would not, however, be returning to New London.

"Well then," said Crawford, standing and stretching, "let us keep to our daily round. Nagi, Schuldig and I will change and have dinner, you may do as you wish for the early evening - do not, however, sacrifice nourishment to amusement - and you can come back here later. Off you go."

Nagi obediently went to amuse himself, although it was not in his estimation yet time to think of food, and he wished he might have had company a while longer. He went back out into the city, shivering to see the larger number of soldiers all about, some of whom looked to be asking questions of people in the street. Feeling alarmed at such a thing, Nagi returned quickly to the hotel and went up to the small room that he shared with Farfarello, finding it locked, and receiving no answer from within. He looked about uneasily, and seeing no one, placed his hand flat against the lock, closing his eyes and thinking hard about how such a mechanism worked. The others had shown him, laying a lock out piece by piece for him to see. He felt the presence of the key on the other side, and imagined it turning, easily and smoothly, hearing with triumph the click as the tumblers opened.

"You locked me out!" he cried, throwing open the door and seeing Farfarello lying upon his bed, reading a book bound in dark red cloth.

"It didn't keep you out, so you've no cause for complaint," said Farfarello shortly and turned his attention back upon the book. "Bah!" he ejaculated, turning the page and sneering, "this church is no better than any other. Such stupidity!"

"Did you take that from the church?" asked Nagi. "Crawford will be very angry with you."

"So don't tell him," said Farfarello mildly. "It's just a book. I'll burn it later tonight."

Nagi sighed, and lay upon his own bed, staring at the ceiling till the attraction thereof faded and then amusing himself by making items float and clash in mid air. It was not as much fun when he did not have someone paying attention, he thought, and wished once more he were back in Crawford and Schuldig's room. Farfarello in this mood was quiet and boring. Nagi sighed as deeply as he could, and when he still got no response, rolled over on his back and closed his eyes, hoping to sleep. He would be glad to leave the city, he thought, he was ready to do anything rather than spend more time in his boring room with such a boring partner. Things would be exciting when they left, he thought. They would leave this all behind them, and the people would forget. It would be all much better in the morning.

  


* * *

  
 _New London, 1880_

  
"This is appalling, Bracy," said Roberts, his face pale as he read through the statement taken from the lady who had discovered the horrible scene. "I cannot believe this has happened in a civilised area."

"Well?" said Bracy, "will you help me in this, Rob?"

"Of course," said Roberts, "to the best of my abilities - poor though they showed themselves to be before." He looked sorrowful, continuing, "Your views on the previous investigation were more accurate than mine. I will certainly not attempt to dissuade from this."

"It is not a matter for dissuasion," said Bracy, "as Colonel Graves has this time ordered me to undertake this investigation. I must tell Gedge he will also be aiding me."

Roberts sighed, looking at the papers. "Yes. Of course you will want him. He was useful to you before."

"He is experienced, Rob," said Bracy, "as experienced as I in such matters." He looked fiercely at his notes saying, "Oh, but how I wish Colonel Graves had picked someone with real experience! Surely there is someone in the city who has been in the police force?"

"We will be better than any police officer, I am sure," said Roberts. "Go on, go and tell Gedge that he will be under you in another case, and then come and tell me what we shall do, for I confess I do not have a single idea of how we should proceed."

"I will be back as soon as possible," said Bracy. "Let us say that we will convene in our office in half an hour." So saying he walked out of their house, and immediately sought out Gedge.

"Private Gedge," he said politely, having discovered Gedge sitting in the shade of a supply building, telling idle jokes with those of his friends also off-duty, "A word with you, please."

Gedge at once leaped up and rushed over, saying, "Mr Bracy? Yes, sir?"

"Come with me, Gedge," said Bracy, not wishing to say anything in front of the body of men. "I wish to speak to you in my office." In silence he led the way to the office that both he and Roberts shared, and ushered Gedge in.

"Captain Roberts," said Gedge politely, coming quickly to attention.

"At ease," said Roberts, "Lieutenant Bracy has something to say to you."

"You have been chosen to help me in an investigation of a crime," said Bracy. "We are, it seems, among the most successful detectives on Mars."

"I ain't a detective," said Gedge in some confusion.

"We are the closest thing to detectives the city has, it seems," said Bracy. "And even if we were not, we have a duty to maintain law and order. Listen." So saying, he quickly laid out the details of the crime, causing poor Gedge to wince at his calm descriptions. "Here," said Bracy, handing him the report. "The first person on the scene has detailed the sight that lay before her."

Gedge took it and read it slowly, pausing to sound out unfamiliar words. He became pale and worried looking. "Sir!" he cried, "No person did this, surely, it was some sort of beast!"

"A dangerous animal would surely have excited some comment as it fled the area," said Roberts calmly.

"Captain Roberts is right," said Bracy. "We are dealing with a person, although whether human or Martian cannot as yet be seen; no animal has done this. Now, it seems to me that we must undertake several steps. First, we should see the body, which has, it seems been removed from the church to the hospital within the city. I wish it had been left at the scene - how much might we have learned from it?"

"Well, but this is a hot clime," said Roberts, "the deceased could hardly have been left where he fell. It would not be practical."

"No," said Bracy in some disgust. "No, indeed. Second, we must examine the church itself, and then we must interview the lady who found the vicar, and put forth a call to see if any witness may have been present. Have you any thoughts on the matter, Gedge?"

Gedge shook his head, seemingly content to allow his superiors to put forward suggestions. "No sir," he said. "I 'spect the fellow is clever enough not to return to the scene of the murder, but there's still a lot of work to be done with your ideas."

"Very well," said Bracy, "let us go and see the body."

Accordingly, the three young men went from the fort at once, presenting themselves at the hospital, where a fearsome ward matron directed them to the morgue, a room with walls thick enough to provide at least some chill to the air. Having found and introduced themselves to the doctor with responsibility for this sad chamber, Bracy asked that they might see the body.

"Of course," said the doctor, who had been informed of the city's asking for help from the army. "I must warn you, however, that it is not a pretty sight."

"We are trained soldiers," said Bracy, "we are used to the sight of wounds."

"Very well," said the doctor, and opened a case set into the wall, drawing forth on a sort of retractable bed a sheet covered form. He removed the sheet, and the three young soldiers all gasped in horror.

"Ah!" ejaculated Bracy, "we must find this brute with all haste, Rob!"

"Yes," said Roberts, sounding ill. "Oh, how vile!"

Gedge, looking upon the body felt very dizzy, and told himself that he would not disgrace himself before two officers by needing to go outside, nor by fainting where he stood. He paid close attention to Bracy as the young officer made notes, until he felt strong enough to look back at the body. He made himself look upon the battered and wounded form, noting as calmly as he could the marks of a knife, and thinking, "that needed to have been sharp, that's the kind of thing a man carries for just this purpose." All at once, the thought of the sharp butcher's knives that might be found in a kitchen came to his mind, as did the image of the poor vicar being carved up like a Sunday roast, and he felt terribly light-headed, and swayed precariously, finding himself suddenly caught by Bracy.

"Gedge," said Bracy compassionately. "We are almost done here, it is hard for us all. Would you prefer to wait outside?"

"No," said Gedge weakly, ashamed to leave his officers and act like a girl in such a manner. "I jest felt a bit queer, sir, but I'm all right now."

"If you are sure," said Bracy. "I will just be a minute longer." He turned back to the doctor, who seemed not effected in the least by the grisly remains, and checked the details he had written down concerning the length and the depth of the wounds. At last then, he thanked the doctor, and the body was shut away once more, both Gedge and Roberts heaving sighs of relief.

"For these wounds to be made," said Bracy, "surely we are looking for a man who wielded a knife with great ferocity, slashing at the body using the full extent of his arms? It would be a truly rage-filled attack."

"Or a Martian," said the doctor, appearing to wish to be helpful. "With their longer arms and greater height, it would be easy for one of them to make such gashes."

"Thank you," said Bracy, "but we have no reason to single out any Martian for the crime over the possibility of the murderer being a human. We must not jump to conclusions." So saying he led Roberts and Gedge away from the morgue, saying once they were outside the hospital, "Somehow we must stop the assumption that this was carried out by a native. Colonel Graves is right, there could so easily be trouble brought upon our heads."

"Let us to the church, then," said Roberts, breathing more freely in the open air. "After that fearsome sight it will be, no doubt, a relief."

"Are you recovered, Gedge?" asked Bracy, receiving a nod in return.

"I'm much better, Mr Bracy," said Gedge. "I jest felt light-headed, a bit of a queer turn, like I said. But I'm jest fine now." He stood up straight and proud to show he meant what he said.

"Very well," said Bracy with a little smile. "This is not how I thought to be spending my day, Gedge, not when we must work ourselves hard to master the grammar of the native tongue! We will have to double our efforts when we are at last given the opportunity to once more take up our studies."

"I'd like that, sir," said Gedge shyly, blushing a little at Roberts' laugh.

"The two of you are well-suited," said Roberts, and then continued brusquely, "well, let's to the church."

When the church was reached, Gedge saw that an army guard had been placed upon the door, in the form of a bored soldier.

"Yes, Mr Bracy," said the guard, in response to questioning, "I've had to get rid of a few _souvenir_ hunters, but mostly they stand around outside and do not attempt to enter the church building."

"Good," said Bracy, "keep them back while we are inside."

Gedge followed the officers as they unlocked the door and slipped inside. All about him was destruction, with brightly coloured shards of glass lying on the ground, the source in a smashed stained-glass window clear. Flowers were strewn about and trampled on, and the Bible from the lectern had been flung down on the floor. It seemed almost as if a huge and spiteful child had been at large within the building.

"That is where the body was found," said Bracy softly, indicating the communion table, "laid out as the statement said."

"Butchered, you mean," muttered Roberts, looking about him with haunted eyes.

Gedge felt his gorge rise once more, but looked at his boots until he felt in control once again. When he looked up he saw the officers were standing at the communion table, staring down in disgust and shock. Quickly he joined them, and saw, scrawled in what was clearly blood, a line of writing.

"Even I can read this," muttered Roberts, "although I wish I could not."

"What's it say, sir?" asked Gedge, who had had as a schoolchild only the slightest idea that other tongues existed, and even less idea that they might be learned.

"It's Latin, Gedge," said Bracy. "It says, _Hoc est corpus meum._ It's a line from the Roman rite of communion. It means "This is my body."" He looked grimly at the blood soaked table, and the destruction all around. "Whoever did this," he said, "is familiar with the rituals of the Catholic church. We must ask ourselves if the murderer is himself a member of that faith, or merely wishes to make us think that he is."

"An anti-Catholic conspiracy to incite hatred?" asked Roberts in surprise. "Bracy, you cannot be serious, not in this day and age."

"Whether it is a misdirection, or some madman's statement of faith," said Bracy, "if this is reported I fear it is not only the native inhabitants of New London who will find themselves under suspicion." He looked about him at the desecrated church.

"There are those always willing to believe the worst of others," he said. "They will find scapegoats aplenty in the days to come, I have no doubt."


	16. Chapter 16

_New London, 1880_

  
"There are soldiers all about the city, asking questions," said Schuldig. "I have seen them protecting natives from some of the more impatient persons of the town, and although there are rumours aplenty that the native inhabitants will be rounded up and punished, I can in fact discover no one who has actually seen such a thing." Glaring at Farfarello, he continued, "I how found, however, some soldiers who think their officers must surely be wrong about the murderer being a human man. You give me yet more work to do, to suggest to the officers that they are not following the correct path and should seek instead only for a Martian culprit. Who knows if I have worked upon them all? How soon before they come asking questions of us, I wonder?"

Farfarello did not answer, instead staring idly at the floor, whilst playing with one of his thin bladed knives. After some minutes, Schuldig ejaculated in exasperation and stormed out of the room.

"Before you inquire, yes, I must provoke him so," said Farfarello. "He would feel quite neglected and sorrowful if I did not."

"I said nothing," said Nagi, continuing to pack the ammunition carefully into cases. "You know he will complain to Crawford."

"Let him," said Farfarello, "Crawford has a horror of even the appearance of playing favourites, apart of course, from his softness toward you. The more Schuldig entreats him, the more even-handed he will be." He laughed softly saying, "Schuldig would perhaps get more out of Crawford if they were not such good friends."

Nagi sighed, saying, "I wish you did not hate him so."

Farfarello raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I do not hate him," he said, "and he does not hate me. He is angry, yes, but he'll get over that. As for me, I hate only God. Anyway, you used to hate him, did you not? For taking Crawford's attention from you?"

Nagi blushed at the evil smile upon the other's face. "I don't hate him," he muttered, embarrassed to be reminded of what he thought of as youthful indiscretions, in the usual manner by which the very young hate to be reminded that they were previously younger yet. "I was just confused from the orphanage, that is all. And Crawford is not soft in his actions towards me."

"No doubt it is you say," Farfarello said mildly. "None of us hates any other of us, so. What a happy band we are. Let me help you - it will make the others happier with us if we are finished quickly." He stroked the blade of his knife a last time, drawing the point down his arm and watching the thin trail of blood in pleasure, before putting the knife back in its sheath and helping Nagi stack the boxes of ammunition neatly.

Soon they were done, and could go down to join Crawford and Schuldig at the stables from which they were hiring beasts. At the first close sight of the huge creatures, which they had learned were called by their native name of _dov_ , both Nagi and Farfarello stood stock still, Nagi in some fear and Farfarello in appreciation of the animals' size and strength. These creatures, which they had seen the Martians ride in battle were huge, their shoulders as high as the withers of a tall horse, and their bodies from their blunt noses to the tip of their tails fully fifteen feet long. Their feet bore long claws, which the Martians in war sheathed in sharp murderous metal, but which in these specimens of the breed were left in their natural state. Behind their shoulders rested a saddle, an imposition the beasts did not seem to mind, and a bridle and muzzle encircled their snouts, the wide reins trailing from the rings thereof. The native groom was demonstrating to Crawford and Schuldig the manner in which the beasts could be induced to stand still to be mounted, tapping upon a powerful foreleg with his riding crop, at which reminder the _dov_ crouched down, allowing him to spring into the saddle, after which it came to its full height once more.

Crawford and Schuldig tried likewise with the beasts already saddled before them, tapping in like manner upon their mounts' legs and seating themselves quickly. Nagi watched in admiration as they guided the _dov_ about, the beast walking, as it were, lazily, but with great power. Nagi thought back to the fort, and saw again the great _dov_ whose rider had urged it at the wall, and the way in which its metal-sheathed talons had seized and penetrated the stone as it heaved its great body upwards. These ones did not look to be either as large or as fierce, and were perhaps of a lesser quality, but they were wonderful to him all the same. Never before had he thought to ride a creature that could run up a wall, or that looked so very fearsome. He was both timid and eager when he was urged to practice also, and felt enormously proud when his mount obeyed him, bending down for him to seat himself behind its massive and powerful shoulders. The sensation as it moved about was strange to him, but he was sure he would get used to the queer rhythm of its movement. As Schuldig had said, it was very dissimilar to the movement of a horse, and Nagi held tight to the reins, imagining himself to be a wild Martian warrior, with his hair flying about him in the breeze, and dressed in bright silks and shining armour, a sharp tipped spear in his hand. When at last he had practiced enough he slid down from his mount's back, being caught and steadied by Crawford.

"I think I do not have to ask if you will be all right," said Crawford. "You seem half in love with these beasts already."

"They are so strong!" cried Nagi, still feeling the great power of the _dov_. "They are wonderful, Crawford."

Crawford patted his shoulder, turning once more to the groom and asking, "And how are we to feed these animals? We cannot bring rations with us for them - we would need extra beasts to carry them, and would then need to provisions those beasts also."

"Unmuzzle them at sunset," said the groom, "there is always game, they will find their own food. They will return if you whistle in the manner I have shown you."

"Not so useful if we wish to travel during the night," said Schuldig with a frown.

The groom shrugged saying, "You should obey your guide. He will no doubt say you should travel only by day, for there are wild beasts that walk in the darkness that would endanger you."

"We will take his advice," said Crawford. "And we can take these creatures by the end of the week?"

"Yes," said the groom. "They are required tomorrow and will need a day to rest, but in three days time you may have them."

"Good," said Crawford, handing him a shilling, then leading his team back out into the day. "We will have the riding beasts," he said, "and one to draw the cart upon which we shall transport our provisions. If we push both ourselves and the animals we can be many miles from the city within a day. These creatures can be urged to some speed, and seem to endure more then a horse might. We'll make all haste once we're away from prying eyes."

"What of the investigation?" asked Schuldig, indicating with a flicker of his eyes a group of soldiers who were diligently asking passers-by questions.

"Try not to draw attention to yourselves," said Crawford easily. "Be calm and polite if they stop you. They are looking for information, but none can be found. Try to seem as normal as you might." He looked at them dispassionately, continuing, "though I know that will be hard for you. You may as well portray eccentricity, Schuldig, as that is what they will see when they look at you."

"I thank you for your stage directions, Herr Crawford," said Schuldig in amusement, "but I have taken part in this play before, I believe. I will turn in a good performance."

"I am sure," said Crawford dryly. "Nagi, if you are questioned, tell them as much of the truth of your origins with us as you can - without, of course, allowing them to see our abilities. Tell them I have taken you up to civilise you, and you will find they will not look much deeper. Be exotic for them, and they will not see beyond the surface. Farfarello," he continued, "it might be best if you acted only as a servant, and a discreet one at that. Try not to leave your room, and if you must partake in actions outside your duties, make sure you do not enter any churches. Do you hear me?"

"Yes," said Farfarello, quickly and easily. Nagi watched Crawford look at him sceptically, and looked upon Farfarello with some scepticism of his own, knowing well that Farfarello was purposefully answering in a literal way. He was merely acknowledging that he had heard, not agreeing to obey. Crawford looked at him a moment longer, and then clearly dismissed the matter from his mind. Trusting in the wisdom and foresight that Crawford had always, in his estimation, shown, Nagi did likewise, contenting himself with one final sigh at the thought of Farfarello's imprudence. Having thus indicated his opinion, he went about the rest of the day's business with a clear mind and a sense of excitement that they would soon journey outside the great city.

  


* * *

  
 _New London, 1880_

  
As he had found on a previous occasion when he had aided Lieutenant Bracy in an investigation, Gedge discovered that a great deal of his task involved walking from door to door and begging for information, yet being denied any. He, being bold enough to act as he was ordered, had at first knocked upon the front doors of the houses nearest the unhappy church, but soon gave that activity up, for it excited only hostility in the hearts of any servant who opened to him, making them brazenly refuse to either say if their master or mistress were at home, or to talk to Gedge themselves. Knocking upon the side doors gave little more results, although Gedge found people more eager to talk about the case from the point of view of pure speculation. What they said, however, was disturbing in its unanimity, for it seemed that all in the locality believed firmly in the presence of a killer hiding amongst the natives. Not one single witness could Gedge unearth, yet the rumours of a vicious Martian killer was everywhere, and time and time again Gedge was told that the natives of the city should be rounded up for they were all no doubt conspiring against the good English people around them. Gedge felt most downheartened at this, for he liked the Martians and remembered how the native troops had fought so well when the tribes had attacked New London. "It ain't fair," he thought, "saying they're all the same and all murderers who hate us. They're not, I jest know it." Earlier in the day Gedge had seen with his own eyes a Martian lady shouted at in the street and a lad - no more than a young boy, in Gedge's estimation of that tall people - who had been hit by some English boys, and had had to run away. "Why are they so horrible to people who _can't_ be the murderer?" thought Gedge sadly. "Even if he _does_ turn out to be a Martian, that lady didn't have nothing to do with the killings." With this thought in his mind, he was as pleasant and as gentle in his dealings with any Martian that crossed his path as he might be.

At last, feeling that he had exhausted the area to which he had been assigned, Gedge sorrowfully decided to return to the garrison, ashamed he had not more information to give to Bracy and hoping that some of the other soldiers assigned to the investigation might have had more luck. As he crossed a street he heard a broken-off cry from the side, and looked quickly in the direction from which the sound had come. At once he saw the gang of boys whom he had seen earlier tormenting the Martian youth. They now had a mere child in their midst he saw, and were engaged in pushing the lad back and forth while calling out uncouth remarks.

"There's no room in New London for no one who's not English!" cried one, shoving the boy hard so that he dropped the bag he carried. "Go back to China!" cried another, and kicked him.

"Here! Stop that!" shouted Gedge, running up into their midst. "What do you think yer playing at?" he went on, and delivered a clip on the ear to the boy who had kicked the child. "Pick on someone yer own size."

"Ah!" ejaculated that boy, "quick, run!" And away they went, to settle some little way off and continue shouting both about the supposed habits of the people of China and the fact that the army, in nearly a whole day, had not produced the murderer for justice and should be ashamed of themselves for such lack of success.

"Don't you mind them," said Gedge, helping the boy pick up his many boxes of matches despite the lad's protests that he could manage without help. "It's not like they've ever been to China - everyone will know they're jest making it up."

"I am not Chinese," said the boy, in a small, world-weary voice, as if he had said this many times before. "Oh, it does not matter. Thank you, I must go."

"Wait," said Gedge, looking over at the gang of boys. "They're jest waiting for me to go off again. Where do you live? I'll take you there myself, if it ain't so far. I'll walk a bit of the way with you otherwise."

"No, really," said the boy, "I don't need help." Gedge would not, however, be dissuaded, walking along with the boy as he went swiftly through the streets.

"If you ain't Chinese, where are you from?" he asked, curiously.

"Japan," said the boy shortly, then, seeming to relent, said "My name is Nagi. Thank you for helping me."

"Well, it was wrong, what they was doing, picking on you like that, Nagi," said Gedge, not letting his views on how outlandish a name it was show upon his face, "My name's William Gedge. Do you come through this area often? I've got to ask yer some questions, if you don't mind."

"Not at all", said Nagi, walking a little faster.

Happy to have found someone willing to talk with him, Gedge went through his questions, inquiring as to whether the lad was in the area when the murder happened, and if so had he seen anything unusual? To all his questions the boy shook his head, growing, as it were, shyer and shyer with each passing moment. Gedge looked at the thin shoulders hunched as if in anticipation of a blow and the mop of unruly hair through which Nagi peered at him. He felt very sorry for the lad, to have been treated so by the other boys and then subjected to questioning. It seemed to him a very poor thing, that the colonists should dislike not only the Martians but also any of the people of their own world who differed from them, and feared suddenly that the child worried that Gedge himself held such opinions and suspected him because of his race. Accordingly, having learned nothing much of the topics he wished to pursue, Gedge simply stopped asking questions, reassuring Nagi that he was not in trouble.

"You do understand we must check to see if anyone could help us," said Gedge. "We can't not ask anyone here who might have been in this area at the time of the murder, or who might be able to say anything else useful to us. I know it's a terrible bind upon your time, but it has to be done."

"I _understand_ ," said Nagi in a surprisingly rude manner, then, "I am sorry. I feel out of sorts that I did not fight those boys."

"No fighting!" said Gedge with a laugh. "You don't want to be like them with their rough ways. And there were too many of them for you. Yer only a little lad."

"I could have handled them," said Nagi sourly, and at once looked alarmed and more humble in his manner. "At least," he went on, "I thought I could handle them. But I'm glad I didn't have to. You're right, there were too many of them." He peered at Gedge through a curtain of hair. "I can go on from here," he said, "the hotel is very near."

"What hotel?" asked Gedge, rounding the corner and seeing the hotel in question further down the street, a place both comfortable and expensive. "Oh," he said in surprise, "are you really staying there?"

"My employers are," said Nagi. " _I_ have a room up near the attic. It's not much like theirs!"

"I remember you!" cried Gedge all of a sudden, for a thought had been niggling at the back of his mind ever since they had started walking. Nagi looked small and scared beside him, but Gedge did not notice, going on to say triumphantly, "You were in the fort when the Martians attacked - you were running back and forth, bringing the men on the wall more ammunition!"

"Oh," said Nagi in a sigh of relief, "Yes, I was. My employers thought me not good enough in my aim to shoot at the enemy, and so sent me off to gather supplies of ammunition instead." He looked about saying, "I must go. Thank you again for your help." He gathered up his belongings tightly in his arms, but was stopped from crossing the road by Gedge placing his hand on the boy's arm.

"When did your employer come to Mars?" he asked in a kind tone.

"A few weeks ago," said Nagi, looking with longing at the hotel.

"Thanks," smiled Gedge, and let him go. He watched the lad cross the road and run down to dash inside in a flurry of shopping bags and clumsy limbs. There was little point in alarming the lad, he thought. It had come to him that the murderer, his terrible crimes being previously unknown in New London, might be recently arrived from Earth. A hotel such as this, thought Gedge, would be inhabited by many persons who had but recently stepped on to the red soil of the planet. "We should look in all the hotels and lodging houses," he thought in rising excitement, thinking that one of them might house the very brute for whom the army searched.

Gedge thought that he ask Lieutenant Bracy's opinion at once, and turned and went quickly about the business of seeking out his superior officer, glad to bring him an idea, if he could bring him nothing else.


	17. Chapter 17

_Takatori Town, Sakai Prefecture, 1877_

  
"I am tired of this country," said Farfarello, glaring in annoyance at the young man who stared at them as they walked through the town. "I feel as if I am an exhibit in a circus."

"They cannot be blamed that they are unfamiliar with hair of your colouring," said Crawford, looking at Schuldig and adding, "of either of your colouring. We appear, no doubt, very queer to their eyes."

"Even so," said Schuldig, "it is tiring. Is there very much further to go?"

"I do not believe it is so very far," said Crawford. "We pass through a field of ancient stones, and we should reach the house by mid-morning."

"So you were serious that we would spend the night in the open," said Schuldig in a heavily sarcastic tone. "I cannot tell you how much my heart rejoices at the news, Crawford."

"Tell me later," said Crawford, smiling.

"I will be too cold to tell you later," muttered Schuldig. "I may never find myself warm enough again to tell you anything. Why Takatori could not have his people meet us I do not know. You should be honest and admit you merely want to see these ancient stones for yourself. Do not laugh at me, Crawford, I know you."

Nagi struggled along behind them, finding it hard to keep up with their long strides. The bag they had slung over his shoulder grew heavier and heavier with every step, and they were by this stage some tens of feet in front of him. It occurred to Nagi that he had been meekly accepting his fate, that he was now the servant of these gaijin who could, as it seemed, do terrible things. He did not want to do terrible things, yet they spoke of training him to be like them. Already in Tokyo he had seen Schuldig kill a man, just stride up to him and pull back his head and slit his throat, as the powerful man for whom they worked had ordered. Schuldig had had no expression at all on his face, which terrified Nagi almost more than seeing the death. Takatori-sama had laughed and recited a poem on the colour of the blood and the colour of Schuldig's hair, and the whole gathering had expressed polite appreciation while Nagi shook in pale-faced fear. He had known then that he must somehow find a way to get away. He did not know who Takatori-sama was, although it seemed he was some power in the government. But the government, thought Nagi, would not care about one missing boy, not even if that boy belonged to Takatori-sama's gaijin. He fell back further yet from the others. This town was big enough to hide him, he thought. They could find another boy who could break things. Ahead of him, Schuldig was whining at Crawford who smiled and looked fondly on the young man as if he were not a killer. Nagi paused, then dashed down a laneway between the houses, his feet slipping in the mud, but fear and determination making him swift.

He had been running for but a few moments when he heard Schuldig's voice in his mind, saying, "Nagi? Where are you? Are you all right?" At once Nagi filled his mind with the prayers he had been taught in the orphanage, although his prayer in truth was simply that this might confuse the mind reader and put him off the scent. Faster and faster he gabbled the phrases in his mind, never stopping running all the while.

Coming out into an open square, he slid to a halt as he heard, somewhere to his left, his name being called.

"Nagi!" he heard Crawford call. "Nagi! Where are you?"

Quietly and carefully, Nagi slipped around the edge of the square, hoping that he looked like any of the other people of the town. Too late he saw where Crawford was standing, having climbed up upon a cart and, using this addition to his natural height, scanning the crowd. Nagi looked over at him, even as he saw Crawford suddenly turn as if he had known where Nagi would be.

"Schuldig! Over here!" cried Crawford as Nagi dragged his gaze away and fled once more. Looking over his shoulder he saw Schuldig leap onto the cart also, and, having taken his bearings, jump down into the crowd. Nagi had almost reached the safety of a warren of little streets, when Schuldig skidded to an ungraceful stop before him. Nagi whimpered, for no man should have crossed the crowded square so quickly.

"What's wrong?" said Schuldig, putting his hands on Nagi's shoulders, "Why did you run?"

Nagi shrank back, remembering the almost bored manner in which Schuldig had slit the kneeling man's throat, and the mind reader tightened his grip.

"We're not going to hurt you," he said. "You're one of us."

"No!" cried Nagi, and pushed at him as hard as he could. To his distress Schuldig fell backwards and slid a large part of the way up the little street, hitting his shoulder hard against a wall.

"Ah!" ejaculated Schuldig, rising to his feet with an evil expression in his eyes. "Do _not_ do that to us! You do that to our foes, but not us!" Nagi blinked and Schuldig was no longer where he had been, but was by his side once more. Before Nagi could even think of what to do, he felt his mind grow sleepy and stupid.

"Turn about," said Schuldig, rubbing at his shoulder, "Is fair play, boy. Give me your hand."

Nagi felt tears begin to slide down his cheeks as his hand came up of its own volition, and was enfolded too tightly in Schuldig's own. They walked sedately back across the square, and Nagi looked at his muddy shoes rather than look up at Crawford's face.

"He wasn't taken," said Schuldig. "He ran. He has, it seems, moral objections to our line of work. Also, the little _Schwein_ threw me against a wall. I'm lucky he has his pathetic guilty conscience that makes him hold back, or he would have broken my shoulder."

"I see," said Crawford, and took Nagi's hand from Schuldig's painfully tight grip. "Nagi," he said. "You mustn't be afraid of us. We are your friends. You worried us - we have all been looking for you. Call Farfarello to heel," he said to Schuldig. "We don't want him to decide our lost sheep has been kidnapped and he should torture the whole town for information." He smiled at Nagi, saying, "Well, let us get on, we have some distance to go."

Unhappily, Nagi walked by Crawford's side, afraid to pull his hand from the tall man's grasp. They did not seem to want to punish him, and his hand was not being held tightly to stop him escaping, it seemed to him. He was, however, wary of angering Crawford, and so was meek and quiet as they walked out of the town.

"Is this son going to be as boring as the father?" asked Schuldig in a bored voice.

"Is he religious?" asked Farfarello.

"He spends most of his time at the country estates," said Crawford, "claiming the resources and ancient traditions of the town suffice for his medical research. He shouldn't give us any trouble. If he does, we are to ensure he does not embarrass his father any further."

It was getting dark when they stopped, Crawford consulting his maps and looking annoyed. Nagi squatted by the fire they had built, listening to them cursing the name of Takatori. He looked up as Farfarello dug in one of their bags and produced the food they had purchased in the town.

"Take, eat," said Farfarello. "Give thanks you're not eating our cooking."

"Thank you," said Nagi in a thin whisper, and ate hungrily. When he had finished, he watched the others eat their share, and shyly took some more when it was offered to him. The others spoke above his head, as if he were not there, arguing about how the night should be divided into watches.

"We can't expect Nagi to stand watch," said Crawford.

"Not unless we want to chase him when he runs away," said Farfarello.

"No," said Crawford patiently. "Because he has not been trained and would find it difficult to stay awake."

"I do not feel the cold as Schuldig does with his delicate constitution," said Farfarello. "I'll stand the first and last watches."

"Good," said Crawford, "let's get some sleep." He pulled a blanket from the bag he carried, and Schuldig did likewise. "Nagi," said Crawford, "we will be starting early. Go to sleep now."

Nagi obediently took out his blanket and wrapped himself in it, listening to the sounds of Farfarello pacing back and forth, muttering to himself, and to the crackle of the flames. He closed his eyes, and opened them what seemed a mere moment later to find the fire burned down to red embers and a deep and terrible chill to the night. Shivering, he lay awake, turning his head at a slight sound. He saw Farfarello yawn, and rise to walk silently to where Crawford and Schuldig lay wrapped in their blankets. Shaking Schuldig roughly, the one-eyed man then lay down to sleep. Nagi was so cold that he did not think he would be able to sleep again, but he closed his eyes, not wanting to show he was awake, and thinking that to attract Schuldig's attention would be a terrible thing and not to be borne.

"So stop shouting my name," Schuldig whispered in his ear, and laughed as Nagi cried out with fright. He looked down at Nagi curiously, saying, "Why are you so scared of me? I wouldn't hurt _you._ " When he got no answer, he turned away, sighing and sat by the fire, building it up a little and holding out his hands to it. After a little he looked back at Nagi saying, "You should not be awake. Do you want me to send you to sleep?"

"No," whispered Nagi, then, "it's too cold to sleep."

Schuldig frowned, and came over to him, reaching into the blanket to take his hand. "You're like ice," he said. "Come on." So saying he pulled the boy up and pushed him not ungently down beside Crawford. "He's freezing," he said as Crawford blinked sleepily at them, and covered Nagi over with the blankets he and Crawford had shared, putting the lad's blanket over them as a third covering. The welcome warmth soon overcame Nagi's stiff awkwardness, and he found himself sliding back into sleep, barely stirring when Crawford's turn at watch arrived. When he opened his eyes to the dawn, he found himself huddled between the two gaijin, with Farfarello once more wandering round restlessly.

"Oh, but I am very stiff this morning," said Crawford upon rising.

"You're getting too old for this," said Schuldig, earning himself a thin smile.

"We should have asked for larger blankets to provide better covers to share," said Crawford, stroking Nagi's hair back from his face.

"I feel quite left out that no one asked me to creep in with them," said Farfarello, eating his share of the last of the food they had purchased.

"You're the one who said you don't feel the cold," said Schuldig. "If you freeze to death it's by your own stupid choice."

"They are not really arguing," said Crawford in a reassuring tone to Nagi. "They are always like this." He stood, saying, "Gentlemen, if we are ready, let us get off. Remember your orders. We are visiting the estates to see to their security. We are bringing greetings from Takatori to his son. We are not to bring matters to a resolution unless our observations indicate Masafumi is continuing to be an embarrassment. And, Farfarello - restrain yourself. It should look like suicide."

"I'd prefer a challenge," said Farfarello morosely.

"Crawford says he has female ninja as bodyguards," said Schuldig, and Farfarello immediately looked happier.

Crawford turned his attention to Nagi, patting his shoulder gently. "Do not look so worried," he said. "It is just that all this is new to you. You will get used to our ways, Nagi. Trust me, I will take care of you. Haven't I cared for you so far? You belong with us, Nagi, you can do wonderful things. You know you don't belong with ordinary people. Nobody like us does."

Nagi sighed, and passively let himself be embraced. Crawford had, he thought, been kind to him so far, and always seemed pleased when Nagi did what he wanted. It was easier to nod and agree when asked questions, easier to be obedient. If he'd been a priest he would have had to promise to be obedient, he thought. What difference was it to him to be beneath Crawford than to be beneath a bishop?

All the same, he thought, if he were a priest he would not be here, waiting to assess a son's qualities, and kill him if he were found lacking. Nagi would be a different person, he thought, if he went along with such a scheme, a person he was not sure he wanted to be.

"Ready?" asked Crawford, smiling and holding out a hand.

Nagi hesitated, then put his small hand into Crawford's, and nodded. It was easier this way, he thought. He did not have the strength to resist, and he wanted very much to live through the winter. He could consider all this again in the spring.

It was not, he thought, as if any Takatori would shed tears over Masafumi. And if his own family did not care, it was nothing Nagi need concern himself with. Nothing at all.

  


* * *

  
 _New London, 1880_

  
Gedge smiled in deep pleasure at Bracy, who laughed and commended his good sense once again.

"It is a good idea, Gedge," said Bracy. "Perhaps travellers may be more willing to talk, feeling they will be deprived of conversation out beyond the city and must stock up on it, as it were." He smiled at Roberts, saying, "Put on your best uniform, Rob, and come and charm these travellers."

"Very well," said Roberts, "although I am not convinced by Gedge's idea. Where do you want to start?"

"Why not with the hotel Gedge's little friend patronises?" said Bracy. "There are bound to be people whose acquaintance we have made staying there, and we can be paying our respects to them."

"Why Bracy," said Roberts with a little laugh, "do I hear you propose to lie - and to ladies as well, I have no doubt? For shame!"

"I do not propose to lie," said Bracy in astonishment. "Let us start with one of our acquaintances, and our consciences will be clear. We will have to speak to every person, one way or another."

"I was but joking," said Roberts, with a meaningful look at Gedge. "You will have Gedge here telling tales of how we have fallen out."

"Sir!" said Gedge in shock, "I wouldn't --"

"It has been too long a day, it seems," said Roberts, "for either of you to take a joke. Well, not every man can be alert at all hours." He smiled broadly, to show he was still jesting.

When they had made themselves presentable, Roberts, Bracy and Gedge made their way to the hotel, where Roberts and Bracy asked polite questions of the guests while Gedge endeavoured to find what the staff might tell him. Duplicity, however, was not in the nature of any of the young men, and in describing their visit as a call upon acquaintances Roberts and Bracy found themselves caught up and quite unable to leave those acquaintances' side. Gedge alone made progress, discovering from the staff of the hotel at least the more generous of the guests, whom they would miss when they left. When he returned to his officers' sides he triumphantly told them his information, and Bracy smiled at him.

"Gedge, you have been more successful by far than we," he said. "Captain Roberts and I must applaud your hard work."

"Yes," said Roberts, yawning.

"We shall talk to more of the guests tomorrow," said Bracy, "as early as we may." Being as good as his word, he rose early the next morning and, having aroused Roberts also, ate a light breakfast before striding from their house to find Gedge awaiting him.

"Good morning, Gedge," said Bracy. "Captain Roberts will join us in a little. Let us go over our notes before we leave to speak with the other guests." He led Gedge to his office, where the two young soldiers pored over the notes that had been amassed. At last, in some embarrassment that he took care not to show, Bracy wrote a note for Roberts suggesting that he should stay in the fort and bring together all the evidence so far collected. Calling a soldier passing by the window to deliver it at once, Bracy said, "Let us go and speak to the men. I want them to ask in all the lodging houses after men recently arrived. It would be a grave mistake to omit working men from this investigation."

"Will I go with them, sir?" asked Gedge.

"No," said Bracy. "You have already spoken with some of the staff of the hotel, and I don't want them to have to speak with someone new. We will carry that task out together. You must ask the guests any question you think of."

At this news Gedge felt quite happy, for it seemed to him that Bracy saw him more seriously than Roberts who, while he was never discourteous, appeared always on the verge of laughing when Gedge put forward a thought. As he and Bracy walked towards the hotel he felt gayer yet, and eagerly accompanied his officer upstairs to meet with some guests who had indicated they might be called on early in the morning. When these interviews were concluded, it was time to start upon the guests with whom they had not made a previous arrangement. Checking his list of rooms, that the manager had provided him, Bracy said, "Room number forty-five, Gedge. That is upon this floor. Let us see if this Mr Crawford is at home." So saying, he led the way along the corridor to yet another door, and knocked on it politely. After a minute, it opened, and the boy whom Gedge had saved from the gang of youths looked out cautiously.

"Hello," said Gedge with a smile, and the boy's face fell.

"Good morning," said Bracy. "My name is Lieutenant Bracy. Is Mr Crawford at home? I need to speak with him."

"Mr Crawford isn't here," said the boy sullenly, making to close the door.

"Wait," said Bracy. "When will he return?"

"I don't know," said the boy.

"Well, then," said Bracy, consulting his list. "Mr . . . Schuldig?"

"He's not up yet," came the answer, and both Bracy and Gedge looked at each other in surprise.

"It's eleven o'clock!" said Gedge. "See here, Nagi, it's very important!"

"I'll tell him you were here," said Nagi.

"We'll return later," said Bracy, as the door closed. "What an unhelpful child," he said to Gedge.

"That's the lad I told you about," said Gedge. "He's awfully shy."

"Well, we will give this tired gentleman an hour," said Bracy. "Let us try another door."

At noon precisely they returned, and Bracy knocked upon the door of room number forty-five once more. When the door opened this time, he blinked in surprise once more, for the lad was now dressed in a bright, flower-strewn example of the dress of his native land.

"Please come in," said Nagi, with downcast eyes.

Bracy and Gedge entered, finding the room dim, with the shutters closed tight against the bright sunlight. One of the gas lights was lit, lending a soft glow to the room. On the sideboard a spirit burner was heating a kettle, the steam beginning to rise. Nagi showed them to seats, although Gedge smiled and remained standing, and went and knocked softly upon the inner door. Almost at once it opened, and a tall, thin young man with a mass of bright red hair almost to his waist came out.

" _Guten Morgen!_ " he cried gaily, "I am Schuldig. And you, if I am not very much mistaken, are Lieutenant Bracy, the gallant officer who arrested me in the fort? You must forgive me, I most earnestly entreat you," he continued, coming over and seizing Bracy's hand as the officer rose. "I was not myself that day. The dreadful oppressive heat! And the barbaric horde! I was beside myself with anxiety. You do not think too ill of me, my dear Lieutenant, I hope?"

"Not at all," said Bracy, extracting with some difficulty his hand which Schuldig held clasped between both his own. "Mr Schuldig, I am here upon official business, I must ask you some questions."

"Of course!" said Schuldig, and threw himself into a chair. "Sit, my dear Lieutenant Bracy, sit. Nagi, make some tea for these brave soldiers."

"That's not necessary," started Bracy, but Schuldig laughed.

"No, no," he said. "We must have tea. It's very good, we got it in Japan. Oh, how awful it will be when we have exhausted our supply! A more delicate taste than Indian tea, and altogether different, I think, from the varieties of China tea one may obtain easily in Europe." Not another word would he say until Nagi had served the three of them little cups of green tea, which Schuldig sipped happily, and which poor Gedge had to fight not to spit out.

"How may I help you?" said Schuldig at last.

"We are investigating the terrible murder of which you have no doubt heard," said Bracy. "We are seeking any information that may lead to the apprehension of the culprit."

"Ach, _ja_ ," said Schuldig, leaning forward. "Such a terrible thing! All through the ether one may feel the ripples of that poor soul's passing."

Bracy and Gedge looked at him in surprise once more.

"Pardon?" asked Bracy.

"It is very strong," said Schuldig. "But, please, go on, go on. How may I help?"

"We need to know if you or any of your party were in the area that day," said Bracy, "and if you saw anything, however small, that we might use."

"No," said Schuldig, furrowing his brow in thought, "I believe that day I had remained in bed, had I not, Nagi? I had the most significant urge to rest, for my guide wished to relay information to me deep into the night."

"Pardon?" asked Bracy again.

"My spirit guide," said Schuldig, twirling a lock of hair about one finger and smiling fondly upon Nagi who now knelt by the side of his chair. "Nagi, dear, our guests need more tea. Be a sweet boy and bring them some."

"I'm all right, thanks," said Gedge in despair, as his cup was refilled.

"My guide assures me that that unfortunate soul is quite happy now, and has no pain left to him from that most awful event," said Schuldig. "The dead are quite without earthly sorrow, you know." He smiled a cheerful wide smile at both Bracy and Gedge, and drew his feet up under him until he was, as it were, perched in the chair.

"I don't think I quite understand you," said Bracy, frowning, as Gedge looked at him in puzzlement.

"I'm a sensitive," said Schuldig. "I can pass on messages from those who have passed through the veil of the worlds to the other side. How joyous it is to be able to reassure those left behind that their loved ones are well and happy! And my guide is most helpful and forthcoming, why at times he tells me even what is in the heart of the living! It is as if one was a reader of minds!" He bounded from the chair, and grasped Bracy's hand once more, exclaiming, "I am sure I can help you! I will enter a trance and ask my guide to point out the culprit, and you may arrest him and stop this horrible thing from ever happening again! Oh," he ejaculated fervently, "do not deny me, my dear Lieutenant! You cannot know how I yearn to be by your side when this monster is brought to justice!" Holding tight to Bracy's hand, he looked upward with shining eyes, crying, "Would it not be a great triumph over both the forces of evil and those who decry the existence of the spirit world?"

"Mr Schuldig!" cried Bracy, overcome at last with annoyance at the fey manner of the fellow. "This is a very serious matter, and must not be treated as a method of promoting such nonsense! We are speaking of the death by horrible murder of a clergyman, and you tell us such fairytales!"

"But I am a sensitive," said Schuldig in a little voice, like a child caught out in some fabrication of imagination. He went to his chair and sat meekly, saying sadly, "You are not a believer, Lieutenant Bracy. You consider me a charlatan, I think. So many people see only the material world before them, when the truth is so much more varied."

"Please," said Bracy, "just answer my questions. You were not in the area that day, you say - what about the others of your party?"

"Nagi always stays with me at such times lest I need anything," said Schuldig thoughtfully. "And Crawford had taken Farfarello with him when he was making necessary purchases. Mr Crawford," he said with a slight smile and a sidelong glance, "is my dear friend. We have journeyed here together."

"And Mr Crawford's business?" asked Bracy.

"He is a scholar of ancient history," said Schuldig. "He is most anxious to study the art of the Martian natives of the past."

"Mr Crawford is an American, is he not?" asked Bracy, making quick notes.

"Yes," said Schuldig. "We met when he was studying the religions of the Indians on the Great Plains. I myself had been inducted into a tribe of those spiritually advanced natives the previous winter, as you can see from these marks." He indicated the scars upon his cheeks, continuing, "My spirit guide, White Swallow, is an Apache warrior."

"You met Indians?" breathed Gedge, quite forgetting for the moment the purpose of their visit in the hope of hearing tales from one who had travelled to the Wild West of which he had read.

"Oh yes, a remarkable people," said Schuldig, his eyes glittering with fervour. "After I had proven myself in their ordeals --"

"Mr Schuldig!" said Bracy, darting a look of disapproval at the unhappy Gedge, who became at once a model soldier once more. "When did you arrive on Mars?"

"I believe it was almost three weeks ago," said Schuldig, reaching down to play with Nagi's hair. "We came on the _Servia_. Have you seen electric light, Lieutenant Bracy? It is quite marvellous. The way of the future, I am sure. More tea? No? Are you sure?"

"And where are you to study ancient Martian art?" asked Bracy.

"Oh," said Schuldig carelessly, "you would have to ask Crawford, I pay little attention to such matters." He smiled impishly, saying, "He is _so_ much better at the details of organisation than I! Why, if it were not for him I would never have left Germany! We will go, he said, perhaps next week or the week after, when he has arranged transport."

"Your servants?" asked Bracy shortly.

"Nagi and Farfarello. They were with us on the journey, of course. They are both very conscientious and honest workers. Nagi has been with us since we were in Japan. Crawford is so _very_ fond of him," said Schuldig, chucking the boy under the chin. "Farfarello came to us from Ireland, entering our service in London."

"Irish?" said Gedge, suppressing a chuckle. "Is that McFarfarello or O'Farfarello?"

Schuldig smiled at his pleasantry, and Bracy closed up his notebook with a snap. "Thank you, Mr Schuldig," he said. "I would like to speak with Mr Crawford also, and would advice you that your group should not leave New London until all persons in it have been examined or given their statement to the army. Thank you, once again, for your time."

"It has been a pleasure," said Schuldig, standing as did Bracy. "I will tell Crawford you want to speak with him."

"Mr Schuldig," said Bracy as Nagi put a hand on the door to open it. "If you do not mind me asking, of what religions are your group?"

"I am a theosophist," said Schuldig proudly, tossing his shiny red hair back over his shoulder. "And I attempt to teach this poor child that path as best as my capabilities allow. _Such_ a little pagan he was when we got him at first! He is much better now. But to continue, Crawford is Episcopalian and Farfarello is Presbyterian."

"None of you belong to the Roman Catholic faith?" asked Bracy, secure in the knowledge that the meaning of the way the victim had been laid out was not in any way known to the public.

"No," said Schuldig. "None of us."

"Thank you," said Bracy, and led Gedge out. "Indians and Apaches!" he snorted when they were far from the door. "It is common practice for German students to fight honour duels with swords, Gedge. That is where he got those scars, nothing more exotic than that, I am afraid. Let us hope his dear friend Crawford can give us better information, if we ever find the man at home."

"Yes, sir," said Gedge. "What a queer fellow he is!"

"Yes," said Bracy. "Very queer indeed." He looked at his list, and went on, "Well, we should not dawdle. Let us interview the next person on this list. We have a lot of work if we are to make good headway."

"I jest hope they give us proper tea if they give us anything," said Gedge, and was glad to have made Bracy laugh.

"It was rather nasty," he said. "Let us hope we must drink no more of it."

Smiling and hopeful of success, the young soldiers continued with their gathering of intelligence.

The thing I discovered was the existence of Takatori town, famous for - among other things - its medical tradition. This seemed to tie in nicely with Masafumi's medical background. The political importance of the Takatori family in WK seemed echoed by Takatori town's important political past, with castles being built by famous warriors and statesmen of the Warring States period. The town is in Nara Prefecture now, but in 1876 Nara was amalgamated with Sakai, and was not an independent unit until 1881.


	18. Chapter 18

_New London, 1880_

  
Crawford smiled in pleasure at his team, feeling that everything was under control and working well, in the manner as it were of an intricate and well cared-for mechanism. Their day of preparations had gone exactly as he had planned, and the reports he had been given on the investigating soldiers' visit had pleased him greatly. Schuldig had reduced them all to tears of laughter as he had recapped his performance, taking by turns his own part and the soldiers' horrified incomprehension. It was now the evening, and they had all eaten and were taking their ease. Schuldig was poring over the maps of Mars that Crawford had purchased, calculating distances and making notes in the margins. Farfarello was alternately playing with his knives and cleaning all their guns, the pervasive red dust of the planet having crept into all their belongings that had been taken to the fort. Nagi sat by Crawford, having finished his tidying and packing, and now awaiting his reading lesson.

"Start on this page," said Crawford, and let the sound of the boy's voice, less hesitant now than in the past, wash over him. After some minutes he looked up to meet Schuldig's amused gaze.

"Von Clausewitz?" said Schuldig. "Must everything you have poor Nagi read be _useful_ , Crawford? Are you not bored by that, Nagi?"

"Oh no," said Nagi, clutching the book to him protectively. "Crawford said this is one of his favourite passages."

"Well," said Schuldig, turning back to his maps, "you do not have to feign enjoyment of the same passages as Crawford. Wait a little and I will find you something more suited to you."

"Carry on," said Crawford, "Schuldig will probably forget to search out his _Tales from Shakespeare_ once he has immersed himself in geography once again."

"You should have him read the Bible, Crawford," said Farfarello, "so he can see the lies and filth on which Europe's vaunted civilisation rests."

"I like this," said Nagi, and commenced once more to stumble his way through the commendation to have a firm reliance on one's sense of self and so to avoid being swayed by momentary considerations to the detriment of one's overall designs and plans. Some minutes later Schuldig went into the bedroom and there came from within the sound of rummaging and muffled oaths in German. Thereafter he emerged, triumphant, bearing in his hands two volumes. He stood grinning down at Crawford and Nagi, who both looked up at him in the same mild amusement, and threw himself down onto the couch also, on the other side of Nagi.

"Here we have Mr Dickens' _Great Expectations_ , a most _useful_ volume on the subject of a young boy who makes the acquaintance of a murderer and profits greatly thereby," said Schuldig cheerfully, "and Mr Collins' _The Woman in White_ , which is perhaps less _useful_ and yet features plots and twists and romance and madness. Which shall it be, Nagi?"

Nagi looked torn, his boyish mind clearly, as Crawford could see despite not being a mind reader, between the attractions of the novelist's art and the brilliant yet dry analysis of war. He gently took the volume of von Clausewitz from Nagi, saying, "Well, let us have Mr Collins for a while so that we may analyse how the public's thirst for sensation leads to plots so overly complicated that no true criminal mastermind would consider them for a moment."

"You think yourself a criminal mastermind?" laughed Schuldig, opening the book and placing it on Nagi's knees.

"Not at all," said Crawford modestly, putting his arm across Nagi's shoulders, and letting his fingers play in Schuldig's hair. "In order for me to consider myself thus I would have to allow the concept of law to have meaning for me, which it does not."

Schuldig laughed as Farfarello said approvingly, "Humility is a virtue, Crawford, I'm glad to see you are not afflicted by it."

Nagi sighed at being ignored and began to read, the story catching him up and making him read on and on as fast as he could, tripping over words, even when the others laughingly said he should stop. "But I want to find out what happens," he said plaintively.

"I told you that you should let him read for entertainment, Crawford," said Schuldig. "You must keep the book, Nagi, and read it when you have time." He grinned at the covetous glee with which the boy hugged the book to his chest and, resting his head on the back of the couch said, "You are not serious, surely, about going to speak with the soldiers, Crawford?"

"Why not?" said Crawford, "do I, a humble scholar of ancient religions, have anything to hide? I will do my civic duty, and they will forget about us."

"A humble scholar who travelled first class on a truly expensive ship," said Farfarello.

"A wealthy American dilettante calling himself a scholar, then, " said Crawford. "A collector of exotic _objets d'art_ and even more exotic people. Our English friends will be horrified by such vulgarity that thinks itself cultured."

"They found Schuldig _very_ exotic," said Nagi solemnly and then giggled.

"The good lieutenant entertained the most uncharitable thoughts about my mental and moral state," said Schuldig with an evil smile, "I have no doubt he scrubbed his hands very thoroughly once he had obtained a sufficient supply of carbolic soap."

"I shall portray the sober and solid citizen, then," said Crawford, "as best such a person as an American is able, of course. It is fortunate that I have read some monographs upon the native art. I should be able to bore anyone for a decent amount of time if asked for my opinions on the subject."

"Ah!" laughed Schuldig, "but you cannot fool us. You read those things out of real interest, not from a desire to provide yourself with a story to cover the truth. You have a mania for information and intelligence, Crawford. Egyptian tomb art, ancient Buddhist sculptures, Martian carvings, you love them all."

"Knowledge," said Crawford, "is power."

"And power is all you truly love," said Schuldig in a solemn and sad voice.

"Of course," said Crawford, tugging gently on his hair. He smiled down at Nagi and took the lad's chin in his other hand, saying, "Though I make some exceptions to that. You are an excellent student, Nagi, you should make every effort not to grow into a lazy degenerate like Schuldig."

"Come now, I like that," said Schuldig, "do I not make every exertion in my efforts to please you, Crawford? I work my fingers to the bone day and night in your service, I am worn out completely by your demands, yet do you hear me complain?"

"The question is rhetorical, I take it?" said Crawford with a smile. "In truth you are a wonder and a marvel, Schuldig. Is that what you wish to hear?"

"You note, Crawford, said Farfarello, peering down the barrel of one disassembled rifle, "that he specifies your service rather than the service of our cause or our people." He glanced over, continuing, "Do you condone such personal attachment? Are we a faction, now?"

Crawford looked at him silently for a moment then said, "Did you have family in Rosenkreuz, Farfarello? Who stood by you even if you had acted foolishly?"

Farfarello scowled, the expression making his scars look more hideous than their normal appearance. "You know the answer to that," he said. "It does not matter if a student's own brother is there, one does not have family. And friends, if they have sense, do not take one's part too openly."

Crawford nodded. "And do you have family now?"

Farfarello laughed shortly. "You are better than those fools in Germany," he said unwillingly. "You know well the answer to that also. You know we all love you, and that even Schuldig is as dear to me as," and he paused momentarily, "a sister."

As Farfarello and Schuldig traded insults, Crawford turned smilingly to Nagi once more. "Do you know why I do not have a scarred face like our two friends?" he asked.

"You were too sensible to fight," said Nagi promptly, "you knew when someone would challenge you and you found a way to deflect that intention."

"I think I like that answer better than the one Farfarello gave me, years ago," said Crawford, "for he supposed I had been a coward. No, I fought as frequently as any other boy, and started as many fights too. But the answer is that in times when quick action is needed my ability seems more honed and the path through the futures is clear and easy. No one could touch me with their blade, even when I started fighting bare handed. And that is why neither you nor the others should worry about where I lead you. When matters are not pressing, I have time to plan and think about the future and the right path to take, in times of crisis I simply know. I will not lead you astray. All you need do is trust me."

" _Where_ will you lead us?" asked Schuldig, having turned back to hear the last part of this exchange.

Crawford stood and looked down at Schuldig and Nagi on the couch, and Farfarello on the floor. He took a deep breath, thinking there was little point in walling away his thoughts any longer, and smiled at them all, willing them to listen to him. He saw difficulties ahead, but success in the end if he would give them what they wanted.

"Our travels over the last years have made some things clear to me," he said. "We are all young men, and yet have fit more into our lives than most ever will. We have seen a great deal, and I believe we have seen things our masters do not wish us to have seen. What they want me to see on my team is a dangerous beast that must be tamed and broken and a fearless unfeeling automaton that can be used as I will. They do not want me to see friends, they do not want me to see _you_." He laughed inwardly at their surprised faces, continuing, "My friends, I believe that there has been no more loyal servant of our cause than I, for I could see great benefit to both ourselves and, let me speak frankly, to mankind, if our interests could come to fruition as I hoped. You will no doubt think me naive and simple in saying so, but I truly believe that the greater mass of humanity, having no direction or self-control, would find our organisation's leadership of the most profound benefit. However, it has become more and more clear to me that, in claiming to make us free, free from the chains of custom and constructed morality that bind the masses and make them no more than cattle, we have in fact become slaves. Although I have been thinking in this manner for some considerable time, I believe my eyes to have finally be opened by our journey to my old home. Those persons held in bondage by my father - they live their same lives, they perform their same tasks now, they have many masters rather than one. What has changed for them? Only the name applied to them, for now they may fall into debt and find themselves in economic slavery." He paused, then went on, saying, "So it is with us. Like them we have been told we are free, and this fiction disguises the bondage in which we languish. What cause, seeking freedom, goes to such lengths to enchain its strongest proponents in mind and spirit? I propose we seek our freedom in truth."

They stared at him in silence.

After a long pause, Schuldig said flatly, "You are insane."

"I am not," said Crawford. "Consider your situation, Schuldig, consider all our situations. What purpose was served by how we were treated as children? None but to break us and make us forget as adults that we have the strength of adults. Do you know how you seem in Germany? Faced with a creature like Dorfmann you act like a terrified boy --"

"Be quiet," said Schuldig, his face white and set. "Don't say another word."

"You prove my point," said Crawford, but gently, and watched the mind reader's face crumple with sadness and pain.

"Nagi, go to your room," said Schuldig passionately, "I will not have him hear this, Crawford. I will not. It is stupid." He knelt before Nagi, smiling at him, and saying, "This is nothing to do with you, it is all past and gone. Go to your room, _Kaninchen._ "

"You're _crying_ ," said Nagi in fascination.

"I am not," said Schuldig, wiping at his eyes. "See? Go on."

"Wait," said Crawford as Nagi began to edge off the couch. "Nagi," he said, "This is important. We are a team, and we can help each other. Our superiors know nothing of you, they do not know what a strong, good boy you are. That is very important, because they cannot guard against you. Listen to me, all of you. They spent so much time telling us we were free of every bond, that we were each a kingdom unto ourselves. Why? Because a man alone can do nothing. Together, men can do much."

"They promised us heaven on earth, and us ruling it," said Farfarello, then grinned horribly. "I've never been much for heaven, myself. I'm with you, Lucifer." He bounded to his feet, crying, "Let them try to force us to their will, they'll not succeed!"

"Good," said Crawford, "Nagi? You believe me don't you?"

"Yes, Crawford," said Nagi, patting at Schuldig's arm as the German still knelt before him. "Schuldig? Crawford will take care of us, don't you see?"

Schuldig rose to his feet and walked into the bedroom without saying another word. Crawford pulled Nagi up from the couch, smiling at him in a carefree manner that he did not entirely feel. "He is just sad," he said, "but I will cheer him up. You are a good boy, Nagi, and he loves you. As do I." So saying he embraced the boy, kissing his forehead and then gently pushing him towards the door. "Go and get some rest. I'll speak to the soldiers tomorrow, and we will be on our way soon enough." To Farfarello he said, "You know him, he will be gay again tomorrow."

"I hope so," said Farfarello. "He is no fun to torment like this." He smiled the rare, sweet smile he reserved for situations of strictest privacy, and squeezed Crawford's shoulder. "I would like to be free," he said simply, and walked out, calling to Nagi to accompany him.

Crawford turned about and strode into the bedroom, ducking and landing on the carpet and rolling to his feet again as Schuldig aimed the blow at him. Unarmed, he saw with relief, although his ability had shown him only the attack. "Schuldig," he said in amusement, "violence is not the solution to this."

"I have found that violence solves most things," said Schuldig angrily, and Crawford felt fury pound at the walls his time in Schloß Rosenkreuz had taught him to erect about his mind. "I can continue this long after you will be exhausted," said Schuldig, "and then you will be sorry."

"I am already sorry to have upset you so," said Crawford, "when you are my dearest friend. I trust you, Schuldig." So saying, he allowed the walls to fall, and sheerest agony burst through his mind. When he opened his eyes he found himself lying upon the floor, with Schuldig crouched over him.

"You _fool!_ " cried Schuldig, "I could have _killed_ you!"

"Yet you did not," said Crawford, resolving to feel triumph at some future time when his head should stop hurting so horribly. "I knew you would not, I knew you are not what they want you to think you are."

"Damn your foresight!" cried Schuldig and Crawford shook his head, wincing.

"No, I just know you," he said, and Schuldig looked away. "You are already striving for freedom, I know," said Crawford. "They put such controls on mind readers for no other reason. You know you are stronger than the ones they have in Schloß Rosenkreuz, the very ones who terrify you, that is why they hurt you and took away your name, because you and others like you could threaten them. Someone like me, they foolishly do not see my ability as a threat the same way as they see yours."

"I have a name," said Schuldig sullenly.

"It's not a name, it's what they want you to feel," said Crawford mercilessly.

"It will do."

"Schuldig," sighed Crawford, "I need you, I cannot do this if you are fighting me. If you cannot help me, will you at least not hinder me?"

"When have I ever fought you?" said Schuldig, ignoring the fact that that was what he had so recently been engaged in. "Sit up." He helped Crawford up and looked at him consideringly. "You are still insane," he said. "What really brought on this attack of madness?"

"You," said Crawford, and before Schuldig could laugh scornfully as he saw the mind reader would do, pulled him close and kissed him. When at last he broke the kiss he smiled broadly, saying, "From the moment we met you have been fighting them and their strictures. You are my example, _mein Freund_."

"I seem to remember paying for such actions in pain," said Schuldig, his eyes narrow and still suspicious.

"That does not mean you were wrong to rebel," said Crawford. "And it has been a long time since I hit you."

Schuldig snorted with dry laughter. "I almost think you have made some sort of declaration of affection, Crawford. What sort of pain awaits us for future rebellion? Do not give me your colonial views on it being preferable to die on one's feet, for I do not consider death preferable to life. Will you promise me the death of those I hate as an inducement?"

"Would it make you free?" asked Crawford, and Schuldig was silent. "I cannot see that we will be successful, neither can I see that we will not. We have surprise on our side, that we are truly a team bound by more than fear. We have Nagi, and when I look at him I see vast power, waiting to be unleashed. He loves us, Schuldig, let him see them threaten us and I think they will regret it very much."

"That's a cold sort of affection to return to the lad," said Schuldig, going on bitterly, "Have you told him that love is just one of your weapons?"

"Weapons may be two-edged," said Crawford, feeling some of the resistance fade from Schuldig's stiffly-held form. "I have not misled Nagi, nor you, for that matter. Help me, Schuldig."

"Farfarello will never let me forget I cried," said Schuldig in a sulky voice, pouting, and Crawford laughed in relief at such a normal sound. "Oh, this is fine," cried Schuldig, "to be laughed at so by the man who begs for my aid. Is this how you were taught to sway people, Crawford? I believe you madder than any mind reader could hope to be. I can only hope I have pounded some sense into you just now."

"But you'll help me?" asked Crawford.

Schuldig looked at him with what seemed to him like irritation. "We will be free?" he said at last.

"Yes," said Crawford.

" _Vielgeliebter Freund_ ," said Schuldig slowly, "I will help you."


	19. Chapter 19

_New London, 1880_

  
It was early, Schuldig estimated, when he awoke the next morning, the light creeping in around the edges of the curtains still faint and grey. It was most odd, he thought, when he considered his life, that he and Crawford had all too often been too hot or too cold, too dry or too wet, and that to be warm enough and comfortable enough was a precious luxury. The renunciation of the pleasures of worldly things was something that, he had found, most religions preached, and it amused him that men such as they who believed in no Providence had done so so very often and with such success. "Still," he thought, "there are some things that I will not give up." So thinking he tightened his arms about Crawford, closing his eyes and smiling at the other's dreams. The sunlight in Crawford's dream was warm, and not so harsh as that which beat down upon the ancient and dry landscape of Mars, and Crawford was a mere boy, running and laughing, and looking back at another boy who, although he looked nothing like Schuldig, was, the German knew, in the odd manner of dreams indeed he. Moved by Crawford's happiness in the dream, Schuldig embraced him tighter yet and he murmured and opened his eyes.

"It is very early," said Schuldig, "you can go back to sleep."

"It is very early and you are awake?" said Crawford, blinking sleepily. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," said Schuldig. "Can I not wake up before you?" He sniggered at the expression on Crawford's face, which lacked but the American's full alertness to be called "sarcastic". "I will admit it is uncommon," said Schuldig, "and so you should be all the more appreciative of the effort I have made."

"It is perhaps too early for me to call upon our friends the soldiers," said Crawford peering about him. "Where is my watch?"

"It is but six in the morning," said Schuldig, glancing at the clock on the dressing table, which was too far away for Crawford to see without the benefit of his spectacles. "Not even a soldier of the British Army could be awake at such a terrible hour, I refuse to believe such horrors of them. Mere calumny."

"I defer to your sense of propriety," said Crawford with a smile. "Well, you seem very much disinclined to sleep. We can go over the plans for our departure again."

Schuldig groaned, crying, "Let us sleep again at once! I believe I will die if I hear of the plans just once more, Crawford."

"That would cause an undue amount of fuss and change in my very carefully thought-out plans," said Crawford consideringly, "so perhaps it would be best not to discuss them. How else might we pass the time until a civilised calling hour?"

"We might consider the benefits of enrolling Farfarello in a course of treatment at an asylum," said Schuldig, running his fingers over Crawford's back.

"A reasonable suggestion," said Crawford, "there is also the possibility of finding an alienist whom he might not kill within the first hour."

"We might play chess," Schuldig went on, kissing Crawford's throat.

"I always know what move you will make," said Crawford distantly.

"But I know what move you see that I will make and so I change my tactics accordingly," whispered Schuldig, rolling them both over suddenly and laughing at the undignified noise uttered by Crawford. "We could analyse the politics of the Great Powers," he went on, smiling down into Crawford's face.

"Those are all very interesting suggestions," said Crawford, arranging Schuldig's hair so that it hung neatly, curtaining them off from the world. "Let's not follow any of them."

"You know I am always glad to follow your lead," said Schuldig, who thereafter felt quite satisfied with the lack of conversation.

When, at length, a more civilised hour had been reached, Schuldig watched Crawford wash and dress, smiling to himself at the outfit chosen. "You look very American," he said as Crawford tied the string tie in a neat and precise bow.

"They found you eccentric and contemptible. Let them find me a cocksure and vulgar colonial," said Crawford. "They will quickly think the murderer someone of more cosmopolitan background."

"One of them, the little private," said Schuldig, "he likes stories of the Wild West. You should tell him some implausible tales."

"No, no," said Crawford, examining his hat with a critical eye, "you are the visionary adopted by Indians, not I. I am merely the staid yet vulgar citizen who finances your flights of fancy. I believe the tooth powder still lurks within the felt. Does this smell of peppermint to you?"

"Crawford," said Schuldig in what he felt were entirely reasonable tones, "they are English. They will not smell your hat uninvited."

"No doubt," said Crawford. "Are you going to get up?"

"Later," said Schuldig. "Bid me farewell, then." He propped himself up to be kissed, saying thereafter, "Crawford -- last night --"

"Trust me," said Crawford, smiling, and walked out the door. Schuldig sighed, and wrapped himself in the blankets once again. A nap, he thought, would do him good. It would at least keep him from thinking too deeply on matters while Crawford was out.

Crawford, for his part, walked smartly down the stairs and out of the hotel, squinting a little in the bright sunlight as he strode along. The hour was still early, but he had to walk out of the city to the garrison, and wished to arrive there before the soldiers investigating the murder left for the day. They would be surprised to see him, he knew, but he planned on representing his visit as a brash American desire to fit a conformance to their wishes around the needs of his own day. The men involved with the investigation were all young and, he thought, perhaps easier to sway than men with more experience of the world. Thinking thus, he walked along by the great canal, looking with interest on the smooth, unbroken stone that lined the walls thereof, and the deep green water that filled its wide channel. A small boat, its unroofed belly filled with shining silvery fish, made its way towards New London, the two natives crewing it not looking at him in a manner that made him certain they were very aware of his presence. Thinking that perhaps they had met some persons who considered all Martians potential murderers, he continued on his way, coming at last to the garrison fort. The main gate in the high walls stood open, and the private soldiers standing guard looked at him curiously.

"Good Morning," he said. "Could you direct me to the officers conducting the investigation into the recent crime in New London?" The soldiers pointed him on his way, and he smiled politely and left them. He came quickly to the building they had indicated, and entered, feeling glad of the sudden shade and cooler sensation. He had not gone so very far when a young soldier rounded the corner and looked at him in interest.

"C'n I help you?" asked the soldier.

"Yes, I'm looking for Lieutenant Bracy," said Crawford. "Might I speak with him?"

"His orfice is down here," said the soldier, leading the way. "Were you looking jest for him, or for Captain Roberts too?"

"Captain Roberts is also involved in the investigation?" asked Crawford politely, as if he were unaware of those officers taking part. "Either of them. My name is Crawford, if you would tell them."

"Mr Crawford, yes," said the soldier, looking at him in some interest. "Mr Schuldig said he'd tell you that Mr Bracy wanted to speak with you."

"Ah," said Crawford, "you must be the soldier who accompanied the Lieutenant, Private --"

"Gedge, sir," said the soldier, and knocked softly at a door. At a call from within he opened it and said, "Mr Crawford from the hotel to see you, Mr Bracy."

"Thank you, Gedge," Crawford heard from within, followed by another voice saying, "Send him in, don't leave him in the hall, Gedge."

"Thank you, Private Gedge," said Crawford, entering the small room. He looked about the room, noting the table strewn with papers, and the harried expressions of the two young men who rose to their feet to greet him. He took each of their hands in turn, grasping them firmly and surely. "Gentlemen," he said. "My name is Bradley Crawford, my partner told me you wished to take my statement of my memories of the day of the murder."

"Lieutenant Edmund Bracy," said the fair haired young officer, shaking his hand.

"Captain Andrew Roberts," said the other, dark haired man, doing likewise. "You're here early, Mr Crawford. Please, take a seat, if you may find one under our notes!" With a small laugh, he cleared away some notes that were stacked upon a chair, and indicated that Crawford should be seated.

"I'm not one to dawdle, Captain Roberts," said Crawford. "A man who wishes to get ahead does not wait around taking his ease for half the morning."

"Quite," said Roberts. "I take it you want this interview to be immediately begun? Well then, you came to Mars on the _Servia_?"

"Yes," said Crawford. "She is the fastest passenger ship available. Costly, but I felt the offset in time spent journeying between the worlds more than made up for that."

"You were in some hurry?" asked Bracy.

"The more time I spent aboard ship," said Crawford, "the less time I could spend in research. You may not be aware of this, gentlemen, but several monographs on the ancient art of the Martians are at this very moment being penned by scholars in the universities of both Europe and America. The majority of these depend upon earlier works and the study of photographs. I wish mine to depend only on the study of the art itself, as a first hand witness to the great history of the peoples of this world. I fear, however, that unless I can publish within a reasonable amount of time of the Earth-bound scholars I will perhaps find the publishers less willing to take on a study whose readership, they may feel, is already exhausted."

"Ah," said Roberts in an overly polite tone. "You are afraid your book will not sell."

"Precisely," said Crawford with a satisfied emphasis. "I am putting a great deal of work into this project, and I do not want it to be for nothing."

"Your book would surely be purchased by libraries and universities?" asked Bracy, sounding somewhat surprised.

Crawford smiled, a little pityingly. "I hope to reach an altogether wider market," he said. "The public's thirst for Martian studies is vast, but the subjects in which they are interested wax and wane. I need to publish while Martian art is still fashionable. I want this book to _sell_ , gentlemen." He noted with amusement that both officers regarded him with carefully neutral expressions, as if they were used to hearing a man of his apparent standing talk so calmly of pandering to the whims of the masses.

"The day of the murder," said Bracy, "your friend Mr Schuldig said you had been out making necessary purchases for your travel, and you had taken your manservant --" he checked his notes, "Farfarello?"

"Yes," said Crawford, "such things as provisions, tents and so on."

"And you are to go next week?"

Crawford did not pause, for he had already considered how it might look to leave a week before the supposed day of their departure. "As soon as is practicable," he said. "If the animals are indeed ready by the end of this week, as we have been told, then that is when we leave. There is little point in waiting around. No one ever achieved their aim in life by staying put needlessly."

"And where will you go to study this art?" asked Roberts.

"I have, of course, already examined the carvings visible in the city itself," said Crawford, "including those within the towers. While fascinating, these are well known, and have been reproduced photographically in many books. I wish to study the art outside the city. There are, I have been told, some magnificent carvings a day's travel down the great New London canal," he went on. "I propose to start there, and, when I have fully examined them to travel further from the city to seek out art that is unknown too any but the natives. I have engaged the services of an interpreter, and hope to employ native guides who might aid me in this search. All previous work indicates that the natives preferred a certain type of natural feature to ornament, and that the art is oriented in certain specific directions. I feel sure that I will find some new and exciting representations."

"Mr Schuldig had said you would not leave for at least a week," said Bracy, looking at his notes and frowning.

Crawford smiled, as if he were both embarrassed and fond. "Schuldig pays little attention to problems of timing or scheduling," he said. "It is not his strong point."

"And spiritualism is?" asked Bracy in a tone that left no doubt of his opinion on the matter.

"It is an interest of his," said Crawford. "You think him very silly, I can tell, but there is no harm in him and it makes him happy." The officers exchanged a careful look, and Crawford kept his face bland and self-possessed.

"He is not, I take it," said Bracy, "in actuality an honorary member of an Indian tribe?"

Crawford laughed outright, saying, "You must forgive him his little flights of fancy! We met in America it is true, but in Boston. He had been a student in Heidelberg University, and had come to America during his summer vacation. After that he helped me catalogue my research on Egyptian art, and said he preferred it to continuing his studies." To his pleasure, both Roberts and Bracy looked vaguely disgusted at such evidence of lack of commitment to a course of action.

"He is your assistant, then?" asked Roberts.

"He is my friend," said Crawford, "and has been of great comfort during my travels. It is better, is it not, to travel the world with a friend by one's side than to travel alone? We were in Japan two years ago - the ancient tradition of sculpture in the Buddhist faith there is astounding - you perhaps know of it?"

"No," chorused the officers so quickly that Crawford knew they were alarmed that he might digress from the purpose of the interview still further.

"You are from Boston?" asked Bracy suddenly.

"No, Lieutenant," said Crawford. "I am from Virginia. My family's lands were some miles outside Richmond." Dismissing this as unimportant, as it were, to the conversation he went on, "Shall I tell you the businesses that I patronised on that fateful day? I do not believe any were in the vicinity of the area in which the murder occurred." At their nods he quickly listed out the shops with whom he had dealt, knowing full well that some shopkeepers would be confused and agree they had seen both him and Farfarello, and that Schuldig had already convinced others that they had. At last they stopped taking notes and looked at each other once again, as if to confirm that neither had anything more to say, and that they might bid him _adieu_. Bracy looked at him, very straight, all of a sudden, his eyes chilly.

"One thing more, Mr Crawford," he said. "The Oriental lad in your service."

"Nagi," said Crawford, nodding. "He has been with us since we were in Japan."

"He seems very young," said Bracy, "he must have been a small child when you first engaged him."

"It is difficult to tell his age," said Crawford, "although you are right in thinking him very young. The poor lad has no family, and cannot tell us how old he is. I hope he did not in some way offend you?"

"No, Mr Crawford, _he_ did not," said Bracy, and Crawford pretended he had not heard the emphasis laid by the young officer. "This boy, you say, is without the benefit of family, and has been removed far outside his native lands to a culture he cannot know. His dependence upon you and your friend is rather more profound than the situation for most servants. Mr Schuldig, it seemed during my call, sees him as an item he has acquired." He paused, as if seeking the words he needed, and went on, "Virginia was, was it not, a state of the Confederacy?"

Crawford looked at him in true astonishment, a sensation he felt so seldom that it was like a fine beverage to the palate of his mind. "You think the lad is less a servant than a slave," he said. "No, Lieutenant, he is most certainly not. If you will have the truth, then you will no doubt be interested to hear that my family owned slaves, yes. I myself, however, was a young boy at the time of the war, during which my family lost everything. As a man I can assure you I have no sentimentality about that unhappy institution, by whose custom so many were kept in terrible bondage. My money is not from such injustice. I have made it for myself in business and wise investments, and by it I finance my more scholarly pursuits. In America today," he continued, allowing some disgust to creep into his tone, "it is considered preferable for a man to earn his wealth and work his way up than to depend on the accidents of birth and the privileges of inheritance." He concluded this speech with a hard look at the two very young officers, and thought it charming they had the grace to blush.

"I did not mean that --" began Bracy.

"I see nothing wrong in extending an opportunity to a person who would otherwise have lacked any hope of bettering himself," said Crawford coldly, resolving to ask Schuldig if he were indeed responsible for putting such thoughts in the young officer's head. It was a most efficient diversionary tactic, he thought, and one to be remembered. He stood abruptly, as if deeply offended. "If there is nothing more, gentlemen? No? Well, good day to you then." He strode from the office before they could even rise, and spent a few seconds outside the door, putting on his hat and adjusting it carefully as he listened.

"What on earth put that in your head, Bracy?" he heard, followed quickly by, "If you had seen the way in which that, that _person_ dealt with the lad, Rob! It was most unwholesome."

Grinning, Crawford walked swiftly and quietly away, secure in the knowledge that he and Schuldig were despicable creatures with spiritualism and cupidity in their present and sloth and slave holding in their past, yet not, it seemed, so despicable as to be murderers. By the time he emerged once more into the sunlight he was scowling, as it were, in offended fury, and did not allow himself to laugh until he was well on his way back to the city.


	20. Chapter 20

_Dodge City, Kansas, 1876_

  
Crawford sat at his ease, knowing exactly how the cards would fall. There was no way, he knew, that he could beat the hand that the Mexican was about to play, and he would therefore lose a not inconsiderable amount of money. The sheer amount he was about to lose, however, would reassure the other men at the table after his earlier winnings who would see him as a genuine player rather than as a cheat or a cardsharp. His gains were still up overall, and he had every intention on winning all his losses back in the next hand, and, if possible, on doubling his money by the end of the night. It was as good a way of passing the time as any other, he thought, of keeping himself amused while Schuldig was sulking and being moody. Sooner or later a fight would break out, and then he could kill someone. It would, at least, add a welcome percussion section to the incessant playing of the piano.

This town, thought Crawford, allowing only the slightest flicker of dismay to cross his features as the Mexican grinned and laid down his cards, was quite the most boring place he had ever endured. Fights, the spending of wealth and vulgarity had their places, he thought, but there was only so much a man could take. Farfarello's demeanour had alternated for some time between sulking, for the town was godless enough to afford him no opportunities for his favoured pastime, and euphoric for the very same reasons. Schuldig's mood had blackened steadily over the days, although Crawford felt he had no call to be petulant just because he had been asked to keep an eye on the other youth's behaviour. He had been the one to insist on seeing what he called the real America, and should have been grateful for Crawford's indulgence in granting them a break in their travel across the continent, and in such a noteworthy location to boot.

Crawford flicked a glance across the saloon to where Schuldig was laughing with some of the garishly dressed girls, his head thrown back and his hair shining in the light cast by the candles and the great paraffin lamps. Crawford frowningly turned his attention back to his cards. If the lad thought to make him jealous he would soon learn how futile the attempt was. Bright mocking laughter rang in his mind for an instant and Crawford felt his lips tighten in fury. He played another hand of cards, winning back most of what he had lost previously, his attention torn between the game and the urge to argue with Schuldig, whose attentions to the girls was becoming positively outrageous. Pulling his attention back to the game, Crawford looked at the hand of cards he had just been dealt and it took a moment for him to focus his mind on the fact that they were not the cards he had seen that he should receive. He had known that the dealer and one of the cowboys would at some point attempt to cheat him, and was suddenly fully and brightly aware that he was about to have the chance to relieve his annoyance with murder. He waited as each of the players accepted or refused another card, making sure of what was happening and then on the second round, as the dealer reached his accomplice said tightly, "I believe we'd all prefer it if you dealt him a card from the top of the deck this time, my friend."

There was a moment's silence, and then the cowboy, who had not, Crawford had observed been in fact drinking as much as he was feigned over the course of the night, said in fury, "Are you calling me a cheat, you goddamned Rebel bastard?"

"I am calling both you and your cardsharping friend here cheats," said Crawford in satisfaction, letting his native accent sound more strongly. "We knew how to deal with your types back home."

The cowboy surged up from the table, as he had seen, and Crawford shot him in the chest before he had his revolver halfway from the holster. "Of course," said Crawford to no one in particular, "I know how to deal with such people here as well." He noted that the angry looks on the faces of the other players were directed not at him but at the suddenly pale-faced and sweating dealer, and abruptly holstered his revolver in the shoulder holster once more. "I suggest we reclaim our bets, gentlemen," he said. "I see little point in resuming this particular game."

The other players growled their agreement, as the saloon girls screamed in fright that seemed more bored than genuine, and everyone took back their money. It did not take any particular foresight, thought Crawford, to see that the dealer was not long for this world. He, however, did not feel the need to be the one to hasten the man from life, having, as it were, dulled his anger with one killing. He had not won the amount of money he had originally planned on but found he did not care overmuch. Walking to the bar he drank a whisky, and surveyed the room which seemed at that moment to deserve the hellish sobriquets Farfarello insisted on using. Then, taking up the bottle and demanding another glass, he strode to Schuldig's table and slammed the bottle down in front of the youth.

"I am engaged in conversation," said Schuldig petulantly, raising his head but not his hands from the girl to whom he was paying court. Her hair was redder than his, but the brassy colour of it advertised that nature had not been the one to bless her locks with that bright colour.

"Schuldig," said Crawford. "You will drink with me. Shall I tell you how your current course of action will proceed? You will, no doubt, congratulate yourself on having annoyed me. Then you will later spend a great deal of time being very frightened, and we will all waste a great deal of time in California seeking out a doctor who is both capable and willing to treat you." He smiled wolfishly down at the lad who blinked up at him in surprise, continuing, "And I will never look your way again, and you will find that ladies such as this become your sole companions."

Schuldig pushed the girl away in disgust, saying, "Go away! Here, here is some money, just go away."

She seized the money and flounced away, leaving Crawford to seat himself in her vacated place. "Have you had enough of this town?" he asked, pouring whisky for Schuldig.

"It's too quiet here," said Schuldig, "I cannot think why you wanted to come."

"I believe I was asked," said Crawford. "And it has been educational. Some of these men are very skilled with a revolver. If any of those who had felt the need to challenge me were still alive I would thank them for the lessons. Nevertheless, I share your eagerness to be up and working in our proper field once more." He paused, looking round. "Where's Farfarello?"

"In his room. He said he had a headache."

Crawford sighed and drank down his whisky, pouring more for both of them. "He does not feel pain, Schuldig. Who is he killing?"

"Who cares?" said Schuldig, "One more death here, will it be noticed?"

"No," admitted Crawford. "It doesn't matter. We need to go, Schuldig. We'll take the next available train and move on from here. If we delay our arrival in Japan much more there will be questions asked, and they will not accept that we have been accustoming our new friend to our ways."

"All right," said Schuldig graciously, as if it were his decision to make. "Let us go with all haste, then."

"I'll enquire tomorrow," said Crawford. "Tonight, I suppose we can give Farfarello his freedom. He cannot kill everyone, after all. Come upstairs."

"Well," said Schuldig, "I have had it on good authority that I should avoid anything that might damage my health."

"I have papers from the finest German doctors certifying I am in the best of health," said Crawford, smiling more freely now that Schuldig was behaving himself once more.

"Ah!" ejaculated Schuldig, "that makes all the difference! You should have said so at once, Herr Crawford."

Crawford laughed, and they left the noise of raucous conversation and shrill women's voices and the music of the piano, taking the bottle of whisky with them.

  


* * * 

  
_New London, 1880_

  
Crawford, Schuldig, Farfarello and Nagi stood at the stables in the early morning light, watching the great _dov_ be harnessed to the cart that contained their provisions. The beast grumbled and groaned, but consented to back into the traces and have itself secured. The creatures they would use for riding were already saddled and harnessed, and stood patiently like great grey stones, awaiting the moment they should be mounted and given the instruction to move. Farfarello seated himself in the cart, professing a belief that it would be more comfortable to drive it than to sit for hours on the back of one of the _dov_. The native whom they had engaged to guide them, a youthful Martian tall even by the standards of his people, sat easily upon his _dov_ , watching them silently. He had said his name was Paul, by which they knew that like many of the natives of New London he had accepted the Christian faith. Crawford had looked meaningfully at Farfarello, who reluctantly now ignored the man.

At last all was ready and they set off, seeming at first to be slow and ponderous in their leaving of the city, yet, if one were to see the ease with which the animals paced it became obvious that the lazy manner of their walking was in fact one that devoured the miles. At first they kept their advertised course, pacing along by the side of the great canal until they were well past the fortress, so that any soldier who might have seen them could say that they had indeed headed for the carvings at some distance down the shining water's length. Then, once they were far from the city they turned and headed straight for the distant hills, away from civilisation and away from water, their _dov_ uncomplaining, for the great beasts derived their drink in the main, as Crawford had been told, from the blood of their prey.

It was very pleasant to ride along thus, thought Crawford, and even when the sun's rays beat down upon them fully he did not change this opinion. His face was shaded beneath his wide-brimmed hat, and he was well accustomed, as were all wearers of spectacles, to the discomfort caused by those necessary accoutrements in such a hot clime to the point where he scarce noticed it any more. When the heat became so great that it was truly uncomfortable, he merely took from a pocket the slender lacquered case he had purchased in Japan and slipped his spectacles therein, trusting to the training of his _dov_ , the vigilance of the others and his own foresight to warn him of any occurrence that would need him to see clearly once again.

The ground beneath the animals' great clawed feet and the wheels of the cart was a deep reddish brown, with glints of bright orange where the sun struck the sharp edges of stones or freshly overturned soil. Above, the sky was a bright, pale blue, the sun hanging round and golden in its cloudless setting. It was very striking, thought Crawford, how colours that seemed so fine and right in the huge setting of nature were altogether too overpowering when one attempted to replicate them in one's own smaller domiciles. The blue and the red-brown would look garish anywhere but here in the huge expanse of the Martian desert, he thought, and he enjoyed them all the more for that. He looked shortsightedly to one side and saw Nagi riding by him. The boy grinned gaily and took off his hat to fan his hot little face with it.

"Keep your hat on, Nagi," said Crawford, laughing to himself at how he sounded like the servants from his childhood. "You don't want your brain to fry," he went on, remembering his mother's maid's favourite admonition.

"It's so very hot," said Nagi. "Is it true that it will be hotter yet, Crawford?"

"Indeed so," said Crawford, "for this district through which we travel, though it seems bare to our eyes is still the abode of more civilised Martians, and is not, it seems, counted in what they refer to as the "dry places." Look, there, you can see how someone has run water off from the canal." Indeed, the distant patch of green to which he pointed could have had no other source, he thought, imagining the carefully constructed pipe overhanging the canal and the rough arrangements of winches and buckets that he had seen closer to the city, whereby the children of the native farmers toiled, raising endless buckets of water to run down the pipe to the fields of their families. Once assured of adequate water, the soil of the area was fertile, and the people of New London did not lack for the fresh produce to which they had become accustomed. He wondered idly at the fate of the native farmers who had shifted their production to benefit from the colonists' wishes, for he had heard that British concerns were investigating the possibilities of farms further from the canals and fed by them with mechanised pumps that would lift volumes of water far vaster than the Martian children could hope to compete with. Such large farms would produce more and cheaper food, Crawford had no doubt, and the natives would sink into poverty, returning to subsisting on their little plots which would, no doubt, be seized from them in payment for their debts. The Martians holding no particular place in his affections, he turned his mind from this, consigning them to the position of the victims of progress, and contemplated the wildness of the horizon once more.

"There is a city in Egypt," he said to Nagi, "where the king contemplated the beauties of the sun as it rose above the desert horizon. It is a very wild place, very silent. No one lives there now, no one lived there once the king had died."

"Did you know the king?" asked Nagi, whose sense of history was still rather confused but who firmly believed that nothing of import could have happened without Crawford's presence.

"He died many centuries ago," said Crawford and smiled. "Though I met him once."

Even without the spectacles he could see Nagi's puzzled expression, and laughed.

"It was a terrible place, Nagi," said Schuldig, coming up on Crawford's other side. "It was hot and dusty and one could not get a cold drink there for love nor money. I was there with a most annoying companion, which made it all the more hideous."

"How odd," said Crawford, "for I too had to endure the presence of a most irritating fellow while I was there. I wonder what happened to him?"

"Out of charity he nursemaids his annoying and senile companion in that dotard's travels," said Schuldig. "Such self sacrifice! One would think he deserves every consideration or at least a very large sum of money."

"I'm sure he gets all the reward he desires in satisfying his ancient friend's needs," said Crawford placidly.

"Who are you talking about?" asked Nagi in utter confusion, and the others wept with laughter.

That night they built a little fire, for the Martian night dropped to a chill once the sun had vanished beneath the horizon, and the guide unharnessed and unmuzzled the _dov_ , who looked about them with sudden, sharp interest and then vanished into the darkness, with whips of their great thick tails, as if they were the little lizards that the others had seen in the warm climes of Earth. The sound of claws scrabbling at soil and rock was heard for but a little while, and then the night was quiet once again. Paul, their guide sat apart from them, content, it seemed to sleep beneath the cart. The travellers sat about the fire, eating the food that their guide had prepared for them, a spiced meat in a strong sauce that they ate with the native staple that seemed at first like the rice they had become used to in Japan but that had a different and subtle flavour. They found they were all hungry, and all took a second helping, even Farfarello who normally pushed his plate away in boredom and had to be commanded to eat.

"I'll be sorry to give this up," said Farfarello in the Japanese tongue. "Every day brings us closer to choking down the filth Schuldig thinks he can substitute for food without anyone noticing."

"When he makes you a cup of coffee, Nagi," said Schuldig in a vulgar manner with his mouth full, "do not, I warn you, actually drink it. I have often wondered how Farfarello might gain a supply of turpentine in the furthest reaches to which we have travelled, and how he may, so consistently, introduce it into the coffee pot. I applaud your skill, Farfarello, it is quite the vilest coffee I have ever tasted."

"Not at all," said Farfarello, "you are forgetting the atrocities Crawford commits every time it is his turn to do so much as look at our foodstuffs."

"True," said Schuldig, "I kept my silence on that matter for fear he would weep. He is very sensitive on that matter."

"I'm sure Crawford makes very nice food," said Nagi loyally, and the others, Crawford included, sniggered.

"It is true that I am not as gifted in the field of _cuisine_ as others," said Crawford. "Do not fear, Nagi, you will have a chance to taste my cooking eventually. Do not feel obliged to pretend you like it when you do."

Nagi, looking as if he wished to be diplomatic, merely stared into the blackness of the night, saying, "Do you think the _dov_ will really return in the morning?"

"Well if they do not," said Farfarello, "we are still close enough to the city to walk back, if we carry large enough supplies of water. I cannot say I would regret another night in a bed." He fell silent, frowning into the fire, at last yawning and unrolling his blankets, saying, "I am tired. Someone else can take first watch."

"I will," said Crawford, thinking it would be pleasant to sit by the fire and guard his team from harm. "Get some rest, all of you." Schuldig, it seemed, needed no further encouragement, rolling himself up tight and lying as close to the fire as he might without becoming singed. Nagi pulled his blankets around his shoulders and edged closer to Crawford.

"I'll sit with you for a while," he said hopefully, and Crawford smiled. It would not take long for the lad to succumb to sleep, he knew, after the rigours of the first day of travel, and so it was, the boy's head drooping and Nagi slumping exhausted against Crawford's side. Crawford laid him down gently and went back to looking into the fire. The first step was taken, he thought, in speaking to them. Now all he had to do was succeed. He smiled at the flames. He had never failed yet.


	21. Chapter 21

_New London, 1880_

  
"I tell you we shall never find this person," said Roberts despairingly. "Colonel Graves will have to allow us to admit defeat. How many people have you asked for information, Bracy? How many have I? And all the men we have sent into the city? It is hopeless. No one has anything to say of use."

"I will not allow either you or I to give up," said Bracy in determination. "It may take some weeks, but I am sure we will find the brute."

"Some weeks!" cried Roberts. "Are we to wait till he strikes once again, for I can see no other way of finding fresh - or indeed any, Bracy - information. We should perhaps stake out clergymen as tiger hunters stake out a goat."

"Rob," said Bracy, "that is truly unfunny." He patiently looked through the day's notes as Roberts sighed and fell silent.

"Well," said Roberts, "I'm going for a bath. I'll see you at dinner, Bracy." So saying he stood and strolled from the office, leaving Bracy to stare at the piles of paper in exhaustion.

After some minutes engaged in attempting to go through all the papers by himself, Bracy left the office and went down the hallway to the even smaller room in which Gedge was hidden, dealing with papers of his own. "Gedge," he said, opening the door and looking in upon the young private as he bent over his work, "Come and help me with some of this, will you?"

"Yes sir!" cried Gedge, jumping to his feet and following Bracy with all speed. "What do you want me for, sir?"

"Let us go over the latest batch of statements together," said Bracy, much cheered at Gedge's willing smile and eager smile. "The task will be over much faster now we are working together." Accordingly, the two young men bent to the work, cataloguing and rereading the evidence collected. "This is quite appalling," muttered Bracy, turning a piece of paper this way and that. The man who wrote this must be an illiterate. Can you make any of it out, Gedge?"

Taking the paper, Gedge smiled, saying, "He's a pal of mine, sir. I can read his writing. It does look like a spider ran across the page, doesn't it?"

Bracy smiled at him, surrendering the paper and making notes on its contents and Gedge slowly read through the deposition. At long last all was finished, and both of the young men stretched luxuriously, letting the muscles that had become cramped while they worked relax wonderfully once more. Bracy felt that the time had flown and knew it to be but a pleasant illusion caused by having a sympathetic and eager work mate. Roberts, although he still worked hard, had, as it seemed to Bracy, have accepted that the murderer could never be found in a city of the size of New London. Gedge, however, seemed to believe that it lacked just the tiniest amount of work more to force the facts to reveal themselves. It was most refreshing. Bidding Gedge at last a good night, Bracy rushed to the house he shared with Roberts, and quickly changed for dinner.

"You should take more rest," said Roberts. "No reading of evidence at the dinner table, I most sincerely hope!"

"Indeed no," smiled Bracy.

"Listen, Bracy," said Roberts. "This investigation is doing no good. We should have brought in an expert. We are but bumbling buffoons, and we cannot do this by ourselves. We must tell Colonel Graves so and ask to be relieved of this duty."

"No, Rob!" cried Bracy. "We most certainly must not! I am sure that if we try but a little harder we shall make a breakthrough." He gazed at Roberts in astonishment that his old friend should advocate giving up a task, and Roberts smiled a little sheepishly.

"Ah, Bracy," he said, "you shame me. Of course we shall continue. It's just taking so much time and effort, and no one seems to care - I believe the papers would prefer to run their stories about mad killers on the loose indefinitely!"

Bracy sighed, for the stories printed day by day in the papers of New London were sensationalist in the extreme, and the wilder speculations of the journalists had been repeated to the soldiers as fact on more than one occasion. "A pity we cannot compel them to submit their stories to us for approval before publication!" he said longingly.

"I am glad we cannot," said Roberts, "it's bad enough that we must read them but once a day. I could hardly bear to comb through their phrases more than that. Come, let us go to dinner, I'm famished!" So saying, they left for the officers' mess, determined to put all thoughts of the investigation from their minds for the rest of the night.

When morning had dawned once again, and the two young officers had roused themselves, they went to their office and stood, silent and miserable, as they looked at the schedule of their day. Bracy found his spirits much lifted, however, when there was a quiet tap at the door, which then opened to reveal Gedge precariously balancing a tray on which were arranged a large teapot and some mugs.

"I hope as you don't mind the liberty, Mr Roberts, Mr Bracy," he said shyly, "but I thought as you might like a cup of tea before you start."

"We have this instant come from our breakfasts, Gedge," laughed Roberts, but then, seeing the young private blush he gave his most brilliant smile and said, "but one can never have too many cups of tea! By all means, Gedge, I would like one and I'm sure Mr Bracy will not say no to you."

"I most certainly won't," said Bracy, smiling at Gedge, "it is very thoughtful of you, Gedge."

"Thank you, sir," said Gedge, pouring them their tea and apologising in some embarrassment at serving it to them in mugs taken from the men's mess, for he had indeed borrowed the tea things from the mess, seeking out the smallest teapot he could find, and still in some confusion discovering he had made enough tea for over ten men.

"Not at all," said Bracy, kindly, "I often find my cup doesn't hold enough. I am very happy to drink from a mug, Gedge. " Seeing that Gedge had brought a third mug, but had made no effort to fill it, he went on, "Won't you have some yourself?"

"Oh!" ejaculated Gedge, blushing a deeper colour, "thank you, sir, I'll take it outside."

"No, no," laughed Roberts, "you must indulge Mr Bracy! Stay while you drink it, Gedge."

"Thank you, sir," said Gedge faintly, and poured tea for himself also, standing awkwardly and sipping at it in some embarrassment, though Bracy smiled and tried to put him at his ease.

At last the young men could no longer deny the demands of the day and went out to speak to the soldiers aiding in the investigation, telling them where they should ask within the city. Roberts then left, taking with him some of the men, determination on all their faces that they should make better progress than heretofore. Bracy, on seeing Gedge about to leave with the rest of the privates, thought of the cheerful enthusiasm the lad had shown on the previous evening and put out his hand, saying, "Wait, Gedge, I want you with me."

"Yes, sir," said Gedge eagerly, his face lighting up with pleasure. "What do you want me to do, sir?"

"You must point out things I have overlooked," said Bracy with a laugh. "I feel as if I have looked at the facts of this case so often that I no longer see them. You must not feel shy of correcting me if you feel I am missing something, Gedge."

"Well, sir," said Gedge, feeling it unlikely in the extreme that the officer should require his guiding hand, "I'm sure I won't need to do any such thing, but I'll set you straight if I can."

Once in the city Bracy said, "Let us go back to the church. Perhaps we can think of something we are missing." Accordingly, they entered that unhappy building and spent some time in looking over it from top to bottom. Nothing could they find, however, for the verger had declared he could not endure the desecration a single moment longer, and had had the entire church cleaned so that the horrible evidence was scrubbed away, leaving the church ready for re-consecration. Bracy sighed, for although he understood the urgency with which the verger had worked, he wished that he could look at the scene once again, to see if any pattern might be divined in the damage and madness.

"I don't think we're going to find anything, sir," said Gedge, running a hand through his perspiration-dampened cropped hair. "And everyone who lives round about has been questioned more than once. What should we do now?"

"I don't know, Gedge," said Bracy slowly, realising as he said it that he was coming to agree with Roberts as to the hopelessness of it all. "We have a whole city of possible suspects, and no witnesses at all to the crime. We were, I think, simply lucky in our previous efforts on the moon." He paced back and forth, saying as if to himself, "There have been no further slanders cast on those New Londoners of the Roman Catholic faith, no attempt to cover them with infamy; perhaps the killer's blasphemy simply reflects the fact that this is the rite of which he knows. That might at least narrow down the field."

"Yes, sir," said Gedge doubtfully, for he numbered among his friends in the regiment several young men both English and Irish who were of that faith, and did not like to consider that they would think him unfair. "You should have something to eat, sir," continued Gedge, "it'll help you think of what to do next."

Bracy laughed at him, saying, "Yes, it is indeed time for luncheon. Well, let us find a place where we may eat and consider the next stage of our investigation." Matching his words to his actions, he led Gedge away and the young men spent some time searching out a suitable location at which they might eat in peace. "I think," said Bracy sadly, "that our first task must be to eliminate any soldiers of the garrison from suspicion. I will examine the records and see which men had leave on that day. We will start with the Catholics, and work our way through the whole group."

"I don't like the idea of it being one of our boys, sir," said Gedge unhappily.

"I am quite sure it is not," said Bracy firmly, "but we must work to eliminate them from our lists all the same. I am ashamed not to have done so already - how horrid it would be should the papers begin to insinuate the murderer was one of us! Let us return to the fort and seek out the records." At once he rose to his feet and led Gedge back to the fort, where the briefest of inquiries gave them the names of all the men who had had leave on the fateful day. The rest of the afternoon passed in discovering the location of those men and asking them careful questions as to their whereabouts over the course of the day of the murder. The queries yielded little of use, as no soldier admitted to having been in the area, nor did any look less than innocent at all times.

  
Happy not to have found any of his friends to be a murderer, Gedge essayed a joke saying, "Do you want to look for Irishmen, now, sir? Or Italians?"

"Italians, Gedge?" said Bracy with a quizzical smile. "I doubt we shall find too many on Mars."

"I wish we might, sir," said Gedge, glad to have made the officer look less harried, "I wouldn't half like a nice cool ice in this heat, wouldn't you, sir? But I s'pose there's only the one on Mars, like you say." As Bracy looked at him askance he continued, "That servant of the American gentleman, sir. I s'pect his parents moved to Ireland." At Bracy's suddenly intent look he faltered, saying, "It was an Italian name, wasn't it, sir?"

"Yes," said Bracy consideringly. "You may well be right, Gedge, in your speculations. I do not know from what region the man's name may originate but," and he looked most annoyed, "I am willing to wager that the majority of Italians are not of the Presbyterian faith. That German --," and he bit back his words, not wishing to appear intemperate before a man under him.

"Why would he lie to us, sir?" asked Gedge.

"Why, almost every word from his lips was a lie, Gedge!" said Bracy in annoyance. "His friend made it most clear that he is indulged and spoiled and allowed live a most undisciplined life at another man's expense."

Gedge looked at his officer's disgusted expression, and said feelingly, "We should go and arrest both of them at once, sir!"

"Ah," said Bracy, "Mr Crawford vouched for his servant's distance from the area of the crime on that day, and indeed we have found shopkeepers who remember them. It was, however, still wrong of Mr Schuldig to lie to us. No doubt he lied simply because it is his nature, or because he finds it amusing to play at special knowledge in his silly way, or perhaps even to take some craven revenge at my having arrested him during the siege. Such a petty motive would not surprise me in the least from a person such as he. However, we should have spoken with him the moment his friend confirmed that everything he had told us was a fantasy. We cannot allow people to think they may lie in an investigation such as this, Gedge. I am minded to give the humorous Mr Schuldig a good fright, and perhaps another visit to the garrison's cells to improve his manners." He glared about him, continuing, "it is not as if we can do anything here."

Accordingly, he strode through the streets, Gedge by his side, until they reached the hotel once more. Bracy, on discovering that Crawford and Schuldig had already left, was for some minutes exercised with rage that he should not have the chance to make his opinion know to them in person. Then he laughed under his breath, telling himself he should beware lest he become as theatrical as the German he had come to admonish. It was with some relief that he told Gedge that they should return to the garrison once more and take some rest.

Gedge for his part was pleased to see that Bracy would not give in to personal dislikes, and was more than ready to begin the long walk back out of the city. The day had been so very hot, and his time with Bracy that day so very long and hard. He thought with yearning of the food that would be served to the men, and the chance to play cards with his friends afterwards. So caught up in this thought was he that it took some moments before he noticed he was being watched most closely by a young woman whom, he estimated, had not exceeded her seventeenth year. This young person, by her work-reddened hands and her thin and permanently worried face, he took not to be a lady. Indeed, Gedge was right, for, having seen that she was noticed, the young woman came up to him nervously, beckoning him aside.

"Here," she said, "yer one of them soldiers that was asking the guests questions, ain't you?"

"Yes," said Gedge. "Private William Gedge of the 404th Fusiliers. Does one of the guests want to speak to my orficer again?"

"No," said the young woman, looking about her in a worried manner. "It's me, I want ter say something."

"Come on, then," said Gedge, ready to ask Bracy to listen to her.

"No!" she said, "I can't tell a gentleman this. I found something, see." She produced a parcel, wrapped up in brown paper. "I'm a maid in the hotel, I found it when I was cleaning a room."

"What is it?" said Gedge, unwrapping the parcel as the young woman looked more nervous than ever. He frowned down at what was revealed. "Why, it's jest a prayer book."

"Oh!" cried the young woman, "you open it, I can't, I jest can't look at it no more!"

Gedge, frowning more than ever, opened the book and stiffened in shock. Clear on the pages were the marks of fingers in what could only be blood, and in some places the names of God and the Saviour were scribbled out with hasty thick black strokes of a pencil.

"You've got ter tell my orficer where you found this," he said, turning to the frontispiece and seeing the name of the church inscribed thereupon. "You come with me."

"No," she said, "yer don't understand, I can't, I took that from a room - I should've handed it over for safekeeping without looking at it. I could be dismissed!"

"Mr Bracy won't say nothing to yer employers," said Gedge firmly. "But if yer won't tell him, tell me where you got it."

"There was an American gentleman," said the young woman, "that book was under one of the beds in the room his servants was in. It was lying up against the wall, like someone had dropped it down the back of the headboard and forgotten about it."

Without waiting to hear another word, Gedge seized her arm and dragged her over to Bracy's side, telling her firmly to trust his officer and to tell him the whole story. Bracy listened to her as she stammered out her story once more and thanked her, assuring her that he would not allow a bad report of her actions to come to the manager of the hotel. Allowing her at last to flee, Bracy stood in silence, looking through the Book of Common Prayer page by page while Gedge watched him with some worry.

"Gedge," said Bracy. "This discovery is most important, and we must decide whether it was deliberately placed in the spot where it was discovered in order to throw the occupants of the room in a bad light, or whether it was indeed forgotten, as the young woman has suggested. Possibly she herself could have put it there to be found, whether by her or another person. " He groaned then, saying, "But I am a fool! What purpose could that young woman have in lying to us, when she fears so for her position? She could not guarantee that we would not speak to the manager, and so endanger her. It is too complicated a solution, to picture that poor girl as conspiring for some reason against a guest's servant." He groaned again, putting a hand over his eyes. "I am doubly a fool!" he cried, "Whenever I mentioned their servants neither Crawford nor Schuldig spoke of this man Farfarello unless they could not avoid it, preferring instead to give us far more information than we could possibly either need or want on that young Oriental lad, on whom they wanted our attention to rest. Why? Surely only so we would not look at their other man. Schuldig's great lies allowed him to commit smaller, plainer lies than sounded like truth in comparison, and Crawford --" he fell silent, furious with himself. "I took him for a gentleman," he said, "and so have not until this moment considered that he too may have been lying."

"You think we've found him, then, sir?" asked Bracy.

"I think," said Bracy, "that we return to the fort and take men down the canal to arrest these gentlemen and their servants. If nothing else, I will send a strong message that this investigation is to be respected." He looked at the bloody fingerprints again. "But in truth, Gedge," he said, "I think we will be arresting a murderer and his accomplices


	22. Chapter 22

_New London Garrison, 1880_

  
"I see," said Colonel Graves, upon hearing Bracy's report. "Proceed with all speed, Bracy, and arrest these men."

"If they have indeed gone to see the rock carvings down the canal," said Bracy, "their having a lead of almost two days should not be in any way a hindrance to me. While it takes some hours to reach the site by boat, going by land and with a cart to slow their passage, they can hardly have taken less than a day, and their animals would need time to rest."

"But you think they have not gone in that direction?" asked the colonel, looking closely at Bracy.

"The sentries have reported seeing a party heading in that direction," said Bracy, "a party that could only be them. Crawford, moreover, seemed knowledgeable about the artistry of the natives, and, if he is indeed the scholar of ancient cultures that he claims, I am sure he would be happily at that site. I do not see that I can trust any claim the man made, however. His friend and partner is a clear and indiscriminate liar, and I cannot suggest that Crawford should be seen otherwise."

"Do not let your anger at this man cloud your judgement," warned Colonel Graves. "You have considered the possibility, I suppose, that he is unaware of his servant's apparent activity?"

"Yes, sir," said Bracy. "I have considered that. I am of the opinion that, once these men are all safely in our custody I might make further inquiries, and, if it turns out as seems likely, I shall hang the murderer. If his employers are truly unaware of the serpent they have harboured in their bosom, I will apologise for their arrest. If they have conspired to aid him in murder or the concealment of murder, well then they too must pay the penalty."

The colonel nodded, saying, "Yes, indeed. We must send a strong signal that such lawlessness shall not be tolerated. Do you think that both the servants are conspirators in this?"

"Oh, I hope not," said Bracy, thinking of how young Nagi had seemed. "I should not like to hang a boy, sir."

"Do not let sentiment cloud your judgement any more than anger," said the colonel. "You must do what is necessary. Take what men you need and take these persons into custody."

"I will need a flyer and his _ayit_ , sir," said Bracy. "The creatures are swift and would reach the area of the native carvings far quicker than a boat. If these people are not there, I do not want to waste a day going and coming."

"Of course," said the colonel. "Well, Bracy, dismissed. Find these men as soon as ever you can."

"Sir," said Bracy respectfully, and went his way. He walked swiftly along, calling out to a sergeant to furnish him with a squad of men, and was soon briefing Roberts, who clenched his fists with excitement.

"At last!" cried Roberts. "A chance to finish this all satisfactorily!"

"Will you come with me?" asked Bracy, who was relieved to see his friend flash him a brilliant grin.

"Come with you?" cried Roberts, "I had no other thought! You know, of course, that I would rather go with you than with any other man! If you think I would desert you at the climax of your exertions, Bracy, I am desolate."

Bracy laughed, saying, "Rob, I knew I could count on you. Let us ready ourselves, for I want to get off as quick as ever I may."

The young officers did not waste further time in conversation, throwing themselves rather into the preparations to leave. It took the barest minimum of time for them to be ready, and for them to casually walk out to look upon the men the sergeant had picked for them. Bracy smiled to see Gedge in their number, and debate a moment whether he should pull the young private out of the ranks in which he stood, to benefit by his common sense. "No," he thought, "it would be too particular. He has put himself in the ranks by design and I will not tell the lad no." He heard a loud and strange noise, as of someone beating together sheets of leather and looked upward to see the final moments of the flight of one of the great _ayit_ , that some of the thinnest and smallest of the soldiers were being trained to ride. The creature, with a stately flapping of its great wings, settled itself upon the ground, becoming at once a pitiful and slow beast as it were, losing the speed and grace it had in the air. The young soldier strapped securely into the saddle unbuckled himself and came to attention.

"Private Wilson," said Bracy, "You must fly with all speed down the great canal to where the great rock carvings are situated. Keep high enough that you may see the place easily, and not alarm any person or animal that may be there. Report back to Captain Roberts or myself with the news of who you see there - or who you do not. The party we are following contains _dov_ as well as men, they should be obvious to the sight."

"Yes, sir, Mr Bracy!" cried Wilson, "I'll leave at once!"

"We shall come behind you as fast as we may," said Bracy, and Wilson saluted, running back to his _ayit_ , and strapping himself securely once again into the harness. With a clicking and a low grumbling the _ayit_ obeyed his cry of command, hunching down momentarily, then flinging itself upwards, its great brown wings driving powerfully down and propelling it back into the sky. Bracy turned his attention back to Roberts and the men, noting that they were provisioned and equipped.

"Let's be off," said Roberts quietly. "A boat and rowers are waiting for us, and it carries more food and water. We can be at the site within a few hours at the very most."

"Good," said Bracy, and smiled at his friend. "Take my hand, Rob," he said. "I feel sure we shall apprehend these men."

"We shall," said Roberts, shaking his hand with a firm grip. "You cannot know how pleasant it will be to know we have achieved our aim."

"I think I will know," laughed Bracy, squeezing his friend's hand. "Let's go, Rob."

The men were quickly ordered from the fortress to the canal side, and onto the boat that lay ready and waiting for them. Bracy sprang lightly down into it, and watched the men awkwardly settle themselves down. They looked mistrustfully at the water, as if the canal should purposefully rise up against them and sink their fragile craft. Only Gedge did not stare in horrified fascination at the green water, Bracy saw, looking instead at the young officer and smiling when he caught his eye.

"We've almost done it, sir," said Gedge, "no one can say the Army didn't do what it was asked, now! We'll catch them, won't we?"

"Yes," said Bracy, smiling, "I believe we will. Do your best to rest, Gedge, we will be very active later."

"Yes, sir," said Gedge, and obediently followed the lead of some of the braver of the men, reclining and closing his eyes.

Bracy sat back against some sacks, and let his mind drift, thinking how pleasant it was on the canal, with the slight breeze and the sunlight reflecting from the water. He was in a dream of his school days when he found himself jerked roughly awake by Roberts, who shook him till he was fully roused once more.

"Bracy," said Roberts, "look, is that not an _ayit_ coming for us with all speed?"

"Where?" asked Bracy sleepily, and then his eyes focused upon the spot where Roberts pointed. Indeed, what they saw could only be an _ayit_ , and he came to his feet, expectantly. The creature drew swiftly closer, and at last landed in the usual ungainly manner of the beasts somewhat ahead of the boat.

"Sir! Sir!" cried Wilson, unbuckling himself and running to the canal bank, "there's nobody up ahead, sir! I could see clear as clear, there weren't nowhere to hide men and _dov_ , they're jest not there!"

"Blast," said Bracy. "It seems Crawford indeed lied to us, Rob. That does not argue well for his innocence in this matter."

"Indeed," said Roberts, then called out. "Could you discern where they left the trail bound for the site, Wilson?"

"I think so, sir," came Wilson's reply. "I saw a narrow trail leading off to the north, not far from here."

"It seems as if we must walk from this point," said Roberts good humouredly, and began to waken the soldiers, who grumbled, but softly and in no way meaning him to be offended. The boat put in at the side of the canal, as Bracy instructed the crew, and the men clambered out to stand on the ancient and beautifully constructed pathway that paralleled the water. Quickly he ordered Wilson to go on ahead of them, showing them the trail by his presence, then he, with a gay heart, cheerfully went along with the squad of men, determined that justice should prevail, and that the wrongdoers would pay for their crimes.

"A forced march, Bracy," said Roberts quietly, "will not do the men any good if they must fight at the end of it. Would it not be more sensible to return to the fort and from there set out with _dov_ and _ayit_ to carry us more swiftly?"

"Rob," said Bracy, "they do not know they are being followed, and so will be moving hardly faster than a man may walk. Moreover, I do not think they will have broken camp early, for I think that in truth Schuldig is as indolent and morning-shy as he depicted himself to be. He had the air of a man not long up. If we hurry, and rise early tomorrow morning, we should catch them by tomorrow night."

"Well, I will not overrule you," said Roberts, smiling at his friend. "Let us go, then, and catch our murderer."

  


* * *

  
 _The desert, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
"Do you think this man is leading us by the right path?" asked Schuldig, peering suspiciously at their guide up ahead of them.

"Am I a mind reader?" asked Crawford. "You tell me."

"He believes he is," said Schuldig so promptly that Crawford knew the German must have been waiting to be asked. "But that does not tell us if in fact we are on the correct path. He could be wrong, he could be incompetent, we could be lost."

"We are not lost," said Crawford in tones of amusement and indulgence. When Schuldig began to worry about a matter, he thought, it was as exaggerated as any other of his actions. Schuldig glared at him and tossed his head, looking back slyly to see if he had made Crawford smile. The American, knowing the true concerns which Schuldig would not voice, reached over as their _dov_ walked side by side and placed a hand over Schuldig's. "It will all be all right," he said very quietly. "It will all be worth it."

"Huh," said Schuldig, as if Crawford's words had nothing to do with him. After another mile he asked, in tones that suggested he was not much interested in the answer, "Will you still need a mind reader?"

"Always," said Crawford decisively, noting how the young man refused to let his face show any expression but that of polite inquiry, "and I refuse to train another to my likes and dislikes. I hope you had not secretly thought of abandoning me?"

"Oh!" said Schuldig with an evil grin, "I see that our freedom is to be relative. Shall we call you "sir" as well?"

"Why start now?" said Crawford dryly, and watched Schuldig laugh cheerfully, his hair glinting in the bright sunlight. "I hope you remember how to handle a pick," joked Crawford, and Schuldig stopped laughing.

"We should employ the natives of the locality," said Schuldig, "my hands are become too soft and delicate to properly wield a tool."

"I'm sure you will remember," said Crawford maliciously, admiring the now all too evident play of emotions across Schuldig's face. "A little hard work would do you no harm, even it be somewhat more arduous than charming silly women out of their fortunes."

"You take too much pleasure in torment," said Schuldig testily.

"And you in being tormented," said Crawford. "I do not needle at you as much as does Farfarello."

"It would be impossible to match or exceed him in his efforts to be annoying," said Schuldig, "although perhaps you are to be applauded for attempting the feat. I shall demonstrate to you later how a nonsensical feud between two parties may be organised, and you will acknowledge that you still have much to learn." He looked up the trail to where their guide was coming slowly back, calling out that he had found an excellent place to break for food. Crawford was loathe to rest, but saw the others were hungry and so pulled up his _dov_ readily enough. The great beasts lay down in the sun, their yellow eyes lidding over with pleasure, as the young men ate the cold food that their guide handed to them carefully. At length they were on their way again, Farfarello still silent and grim as if the cares of the world bowed him down, Schuldig chatting and merry and irritated by turns at Crawford's responses. Nagi simply rode along with his mouth closed but his ears quite clearly open.

A feeling of unease grew within Crawford's heart, causing him to look over his shoulder as if seeking out an enemy who had managed to follow them out into the desert, but seeing no one. His conviction grew stronger and stronger - that they were in truth being followed. Closing his eyes for a moment, Crawford bent his will onto that matter until the future became clearer to him, opening his eyes then with a snap and beckoning Schuldig closer.

"What is it?" asked Schuldig's voice in his mind.

"Soldiers," replied Crawford in like manner. "They will catch up with us today."

"Let them," thought Schuldig, and Crawford's mind flooded with images of mayhem and death.

"No, no", he thought. "Only if necessary. It is not yet necessary."

"Look," said Nagi all of a sudden, causing all of them to turn their heads towards him, as he pointed upward into the sky. "Is that not an _ayit_?"

"Yes," said Schuldig, "it is. Are they not creatures of the hills in the wild? I would not have thought we were close enough to infringe on the territory of one of the beasts."

Crawford took out the lacquer case and slipped his spectacles on to his nose, for he had, as previously, removed them from his face when the day became too hot. Catching a glimpse of a bright flash, he quickly removed from his saddlebags his spy glass, and raised it to his eye. As he had seen, there was a human soldier strapped into the _ayit_ 's saddle, the flash of light having come from the glass that the man held. Even as he watched, the creature began to make a smooth and graceful turn, back in the direction it had come from. Crawford's mouth tightened at the thought of one soldier being such a distraction to their journey and a danger to their plans. He slid the Winchester from its holster on the horse's flank, and raised it to his shoulder.

High above the red soil of the planet, Wilson looked once more through the glass, establishing in his mind that these were indeed the men for whom they sought. The number was correct, and the description of the red-haired man's distinguishing characteristics was accurate, as far as it went. He called a command to his mount, the wind whipping it from his mouth, but not swiftly enough for the _ayit_ to pretend it did not hear him. With the peculiar clicking sigh with which the creatures signalled resignation, it turned its ungainly bulk in a smooth, tight circle, heading back to the army force that followed after it.

On the ground Crawford sat motionless upon the back of his _dov_ , gauging the distance and height of the _ayit_ from their position.

"Why don't you shoot?" asked Nagi, to be hushed by Schuldig.

Crawford let all other considerations drain from his mind, watching the _ayit_ fly from them. Then at last he squeezed the trigger, several times in succession. The _ayit_ flew on, and Nagi sighed in disappointment. "One," counted Crawford, "two, thr--" Without any sound the _ayit_ 's great wings went limp and it fell, as fast as might a stone, from the sky. Crawford imagined he saw a flash of scarlet with it, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Gentlemen," he said coldly, "let us consider what is to be done."


	23. Chapter 23

_The desert, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
"Those rocks, a little ahead," said Farfarello eagerly, leaping down from the cart onto the red sand. "They will provide an excellent place to hide and we may ambush them!" He smiled broadly at the thought that they would be able to indulge themselves in violence and murder.

"A good suggestion," said Crawford, "thank you. Those rocks will certainly be a place to consider. I am glad for your aid. Now, I want you to take the cart and drive on as fast and as far as you are able, find a good stop--"

"You're sending me away from a fight?" asked Farfarello disbelievingly. "Are you mad, Crawford? You'll need me!"

"Listen to me, Farfarello," said Crawford, "that cart contains almost all of our supplies of food and water. We _must_ have it, else we may as well give up now. I am entrusting this task to you, for I know you won't fail me. I want you to take it out of here, and bring it somewhere safe, a stopping point where we may establish a defensive position if we need. I am not slighting you. Come now, my friend, do not argue with me at this point."

Farfarello glared at him, and at Schuldig's carefully blank face and at Nagi, who stared back, wide-eyed. "I want to _fight_ ," he said.

"And so you will," said Crawford. "Even now our guide is riding back to discern what we may have shot at. Have him take you to a place you feel is secure, and deal with him. Do as you will in that manner, only keep our campsite clean. Farfarello? Will you obey me?"

The Irishman removed his hat, running his hands through his short white-blond hair. "I will," he said at last. "Though I do not like this, Crawford. I hope you do not exclude me from fights in future."

"I will not," said Crawford. "Go now, and with all haste. We will meet with you by sundown."

"Is that a hope or knowledge?" said Farfarello sourly.

"When have I ever said anything about the future that was not the truth?" asked Crawford cheerfully. "Go on, go on."

Farfarello clambered back up onto the cart, and after one last sour glance around the others, turned the _dov_ 's massive head back to the direction in which they had been travelling. Crawford watched him vanish from sight before turning to Schuldig and Nagi who waited silently.

"Farfarello presents us with a problem," said Crawford then.

"I have been saying that for years," said Schuldig in annoyance. "What will we do about him?"

"The problem," said Crawford, "is not so much Farfarello as it is that we have far less room to manoeuvre on this world than on our own. To journey back to Earth we must go through New London, and we cannot do that as wanted men. Let us not simply ambush the soldiers, but instead see if they will believe that the three of us, at least, are innocent of the murder."

"Are you talking of giving them Farfarello?" asked Schuldig.

"No," said Crawford. "I'm angry with him, but he's still one of us. If they can somehow prove he is the murderer they will hang him, and that is not a death I would willingly allow him to suffer."

"They're professionals," said Schuldig. "I'm sure they'd do it properly and merely break his neck. He wouldn't suffer much."

"I want all of us safe," said Crawford. "Nagi, remember what I told you. Claim to be a mere child. Schuldig, you and I should be able to convince them that we are harmless fools caring only for ancient art and your spiritualism. Come on, let's go over to the rocks and see if they are in fact defensible. We can be discovered there, or at least I can, making notes on drawings or some other such antiquarian activity."

"And if they just shoot you down?" said Schuldig angrily.

"They won't," said Crawford with firm conviction. "I will be quiet and peaceful, they will not attack out of hand. Their officers will not allow it, being _gentlemen_. We will fight, Schuldig, if we must. If we do, we should take prisoners for interrogation and to hold as hostages." He smiled at Schuldig's still angry face, continuing, "I see us both leaving here in search of Farfarello, and Nagi too. Everything will be all right."

"Well then," said Schuldig, sighing deeply, "let us by all means investigate these rocks of Farfarello's."

Out in the desert, the sun beat down harshly on the unhappy sight. A great _ayit_ , its wings broken by its fall, and blood still pumping weakly from its wounds, lay crumpled on the sands, only rarely now attempting to raise its sharp-toothed snout and gasping for breath. Beneath it could be seen a slight form, a young man clad in a scarlet tunic, one arm outflung, the pale hand coated now in a fine covering of rust-coloured dust. For a very long time he did not move, then, as the _ayit_ shifted in its pain, seeking in its dim and brutish mind to find a position in which the agony might be lessened, he groaned, and the fingers of the outflung hand contracted. Wilson opened his eyes, uncomprehending of what had happened, and wondering in a dazed manner if he was feverish and if his mother would bring him some tea. Slowly his senses returned and with them the awful knowledge of pain. Struggling to move he found one leg crushed beneath the body of the _ayit_ , who could not be induced to shift enough to allow him to escape. Lying back to recover his breath, the bitter knowledge came to Wilson that although he had been spared in the dreadful fall that unless he could free himself the heat of the sun would kill him as surely as his enemies. After a short time, therefore, he forced himself up again, though the effort made his breath hiss in an attempt not to cry out with pain, and, plucking the sharp knife from his belt, with which all of the fliers were equipped for this very reason, he went to work on cutting himself away from the straps and harness that secured him to the saddle. His poor _ayit_ clicked in misery at being pulled by his efforts, but at last he had cut all the straps. Then, seeing no other recourse, and feeling within himself that he was but a heartless brute, Wilson leaned forward and stabbed the knife into the _ayit_ 's shoulder. It reared up convulsively, shrieking out at the new pain, and Wilson dragged his leg free.

"I'm sorry, oh, I'm sorry!" he wept, pulling himself round to the beast's great ugly head. "I didn't want to hurt you!"

The _ayit_ calmed after many minutes at hearing a familiar voice, and clicked at him in annoyance, as if to say he should have left it in its comfortable stable and they would both have been better for it. Wilson looked at it in despair, seeing the broken wings and the bullet wounds. It was clear to him that the creature was dying, and in horrible pain. Blinking back tears, he snapped open the holster and withdrew the revolver that was the only weapon issued to the fliers. Sobbing, he placed the muzzle of the barrel against the _ayit_ 's head as it blinked slowly. Then he paused, cursing both his stupidity and his cowardice, that he would deny the beast a chance to end its agony. The sound of a shot might well bring his enemies to him. Weeping, for although the _ayit_ were bad tempered and ugly beasts he had grown to love them, Wilson drew off his thin leather helmet with shaking fingers and laid it over the creature's eye. Then he felt for the great vein in its neck and, telling himself that he must not shrink from the task but must cut deep and true to spare the poor beast a more prolonged agony, he took the sharp little knife and slit its throat. He sat there, weeping for the beast as it died, and belatedly took account of his own situation. His leg was broken and in more than one place, he greatly feared, and he felt also that something was wrong inside, with his breath coming more and more painfully. His head was swimming from sickness and the heat, so he pulled on the helmet once again and looked about him, seeing he had fallen not so very far from some low rocks that would at least give him some shade. He cut the skin of water from the _ayit_ 's tack and thought it would be shameful if he did not at least try to reach shelter.

Thinking it would be shameful also not to attempt in some way to aid his friends and his officers, he cast his mind about, trying to think how he might leave information for them to find. His bewildered mind shrieked at him that he must hurry, for surely the enemy were even now bearing down upon him, and they would destroy any message he contrived to leave. At last it seemed to him that he was the most useless soldier in the whole army, a thought that was delivered to him somehow in the voice of the clergyman who had had the task of imparting some schooling to Wilson when he was a little boy. Wilson stared dumbly down at his left hand, remembering how he had been beaten every day until he at last stopped taking up the pen in what he was told was the wrong hand. Then he took his riding crop in his hand and wrote a message to his friends in large letters in the sand. The enemy would find it and destroy it, he thought unhappily, reading it over, but he could do no more. Then, without looking back, he began slowly to drag himself across to the patch of darkness that seemed to him like the most wonderful resting place he had ever seen.

  


* * *

  
 _The desert, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
"Well, our friends seem to have been here," said Roberts, gazing down at the spot in which, it was clear, a fire had been built. "Let us hope they did not rise early, eh, Bracy?"

"Quite," said Bracy, looking over to where one of the soldiers called him.

"There were _dov_ here, sir," said the soldier. "There's all sorts of claw marks and what's left of some poor creature what they ate."

"Thank you," said Bracy, relaying that information also to Roberts. He then looked over to where Gedge stood, a hand shielding his eyes as he looked into the distance. "Do you see something, Gedge?" asked Bracy, coming up behind the young soldier.

"No sir," said Gedge, "and that's what worries me. It's been an awfully long time since you sent Wilson off again."

"It's a big desert, my lad," said Bracy kindly, "it will take him time to search out these miscreants."

"Yes, sir," said Gedge at once, "but his _ayit_ 's already flown to and from that place with the carvings, and now it's had to fly goodness knows how far out into the desert. The poor thing'll be tired, sir, it'll have to rest. Wilson would want to get to back to us first."

Bracy laid a comforting hand on Gedge's shoulder, saying, "Don't worry, Gedge, he'll be back soon enough, you'll see." He squeezed Gedge's shoulder companionably, and looked about. "We should get moving again," he said. "That's the cure for worry, Gedge, to be up and doing something." So saying, he called the soldiers to him, and having ascertained that all were fit to carry on, turned to Roberts.

"Well, my lads," said Roberts, "let's get on and apprehend this fellow who thinks he can commit murder in the city. We'll show the New Londoners they can depend on us, won't we?"

"Hooray!" cried the soldiers, tossing aside their weariness and showing their mettle once more.

On they marched for more hot and dusty miles, the sun beating down upon them and the heat parching their skin and throats. At last Roberts signalled for them to stop and rest, while he frowningly raised his glass to his eye. "What on earth?" he muttered, and stiffened suddenly, turning to Bracy. "Your opinion on something, Lieutenant Bracy," he said, handing the younger officer the glass.

Bracy raised it to his eye and stiffened in turn, looking silently and meaningfully at Roberts. "I don't see anywhere a group of men and _dov_ might be concealed," he said at last. "Let us go on with care."

"Yes," said Roberts and turned to the men. "Ready arms," he said, causing much excitement among the soldiers whose young faces lit up with the joy of bringing a murderer to justice.

"Gedge," said Bracy, calling the private over to him.

"Sir?" cried Gedge, running up.

"Gedge," said Bracy, putting a hand on his shoulder once more. "I know you will take this like a man, and will not distress the other men with some unseemly display."

"Yes, sir," said Gedge faintly, looking very worried.

"Good lad. Well, Captain Roberts and I have seen Wilson's _ayit_. I'm sorry, Gedge, but it appears to be dead. He would have been flying at a good height, Gedge. Do you understand?"

"Oh," said Gedge, and said no more, looking out into the distance. At last he wiped fiercely at his eyes saying, "I understand, Mr Bracy. I'd better get back, hadn't I? We need to get on. There's no time to waste."

"Go on," said Bracy, and watched him stumble back to his place with the men. "Ah," he thought, "the poor lad. It is never easy to lose a friend. Well, he will have time to grieve later, but it will be good for him to do something now."

On they went, swift and careful, and within a short space of time the men could see the bulk of the _ayit_ up ahead. They muttered to each other indignantly and worriedly, all but Gedge, who stayed silent and white-faced, his eyes dry and furious. When they reached it, they cried out in horror, seeing the ruin that had been made of the poor creature.

"Why, what is this?" said Roberts, looking down at the ground. "Bracy, where is Wilson's body?"

"He's been cut free, that's definite," said Bracy, lifting a strap to show where it had been sliced apart. "And what is this?" he cried. "Some native script perhaps?"

"What?" said Roberts, "do you think some native band have carried his body away? For what purpose? Are we to ransom our dead now?"

"I don't know," said Bracy, "this is not a script I have seen before. And they have given the _ayit_ the _coup de grace_."

"Oh!" ejaculated Gedge loudly.

Bracy looked up quickly, saying, "Don't distress yourself, Gedge, we'll get him back for a proper burial."

"No! No, beg pardon, sir, but he's alive!" cried Gedge, then, more soberly, "or was, anyway. He wrote that!"

"Lad," said Bracy gently, "I know you want your friend to be among the living but --"

"No, sir," interrupted Gedge, "it's a trick of his, sir, he c'n write backwards somehow, I don't know how, but he c'n! You look at it in a looking-glass, sir, it'll make sense."

"Don't be silly, Gedge," said Roberts. "Pull yourself together, lad. Bracy, let's move on."

"Please, Mr Bracy," begged Gedge. "It's him, it is."

"A moment more, please, Captain Roberts," said Bracy, looking intently at Gedge's thin face. He dug in his pack and took out the small mirror from his shaving kit. Awkwardly then he held it so that the ground and the strange writing were reflected, and read slowly, his face changing as he did so. "Good Lord, Gedge!" he said, "I'm sorry to have doubted you! Rob, look! It says the men are moving eastwards!"

As Roberts too looked into the little mirror Gedge spun about, crying out, "Wilson! Wilson, where are you? Wilson! John! _John!_ "

All the men rushed about at a signal from Bracy, calling for Wilson. Gedge, seeing what he at first had to be taken to be a patch of reflected light among the rocks, saw suddenly that it was a scarlet tunic, and rushed over. "Johnny!" he cried, lifting Wilson's poor head carefully, "Johnny, it's Bill!" Wilson groaned and opened his eyes the merest slits.

"'Lo, Bill," he croaked. "M'leg hurts."

"You shush," said Gedge, pouring a little water into his mouth. "That's it, you jest drink a little bit at a time. There's a good lad."

"Gedge!" cried Bracy, rushing over. "How is he?"

"Weak, sir," said Gedge, the tears he had not shed earlier now spilling down his face. "His leg's a mess, sir."

"We'll splint it as best we can," said Bracy. "Wilson, we understand your message, you did very well." Wilson just looked at him dully, closing his eyes and falling from dim wakefulness to sleep even without a moment in between. Bracy quickly ordered the two strongest men to act as stretcher bearers, and the soldiers best skilled in first help acted swiftly to splint the injured lad's leg.

"He cannot have been so very far behind them," said Roberts quietly to Bracy. "The shots in the _ayit_ are very neatly placed."

"I suppose no more than two of them shot him," said Bracy, "I hardly think the boy would have the skill, and the other servant is missing an eye, so we've been told. Target shooting is difficult when one does not have both eyes."

"So Crawford and Schuldig may be arrested for attempting the murder of Private Wilson," said Roberts. "Will he die?"

"I don't know," said Bracy sadly. "He does not look well at all."

"Attempted murder then, for the moment," said Roberts. "We must hurry, Bracy. We have not too many hours of daylight left, and no doubt these men are now moving with all speed."

"What about Wilson?" asked Bracy.

"We'll have to take him with us," said Roberts. "We can hardly leave him here where a beats might take him in the night, and we can't spare the men to leave and guard him. It will slow us, certainly, but I know you did not fear that I would leave him behind."

"Of course not, Rob," said Bracy. "I'll get the men ready to go." At once he did so, and they moved on as quickly as they might.

It was a tired and thirsty group that slowed and stopped uncertainly as they neared a group of rocks in the late afternoon, the tallest for several miles around. Within each man the certainty bloomed that if he had to lie in wait for an enemy, this would be the place to do so. At a word from Roberts the men moved forward once again, only to stop once more as a figure strolled from a shadowed area, holding up a hand in welcome.

"Good afternoon," said Crawford, smiling pleasantly. He was dressed as he had been when last Roberts and Bracy had seen him, in a dark suit of American design and with a wide-brimmed hat shading his face from the sun. Slung around his hips was a belt, obviously not new, from which hung two holstered revolvers. "You are a long way from the fort, gentlemen."

"As are you," said Bracy. "This seems an unfruitful area for carvings, Mr Crawford."

"I am sure that such outcroppings will provide me with new finds," said Crawford, "see how it is orientated towards the sunrise? My theory is that --"

"Be hanged to your theory, man," said Roberts. "Where is your servant, Farfarello? We believe he is the man to blame in the recent murder."

"By no means," said Crawford. "Have I not said he was with me on that day? Did you not find shopkeepers who backed me up?"

Both Roberts and Bracy stood still, finding this statement overwhelming somehow, for indeed such persons had been found, and it seemed suddenly ridiculous to them that they should have taken their men out into the desert to hunt men who, while eccentric certainly, were surely not to be accounted criminals because of that eccentricity.

"What about that book?" cried Gedge angrily. "Where'd he get that, if he's not the murderer?"

Bracy felt his mind clear, as it were, from a state of fog, and he looked sternly at Crawford. "Indeed," he said, "we have evidence on our side." He took a step forward, saying, "And I think, sir, that a one-eyed man might find it difficult to shoot down an _ayit_. You - or your friend - did not succeed. We have both the flier and his information."

"Your soldiers are so lucky," murmured Crawford, looking over at Wilson on his stretcher, then giving a hard glance at Gedge, "and clear-witted. Well, I suppose you are giving me answers I must have, Lieutenant, though I don't much like them."

Roberts looked at him coldly saying, "Where are the others? Bradley Crawford, you are under arrest, in the Queen's name."

Seeing him unsnap the cover on his holster, Crawford nodded politely, saying, "I very much assure you, sir, you should not enter a competition of speed with me like this. You can only lose."

" _Ja_ ," said a voice from above them. "You should listen to him, we're fast."

Looking up, the soldiers saw Schuldig standing on a ledge some fifteen feet up, an elegant rifle held in his hands. "Put down your weapons," he said, sounding bored. "I can shoot half you down in a few seconds."

"I really can't let you have Farfarello," said Crawford calmly. "You'd hang him, and I promised to take care of him."

"He committed a vile murder," said Roberts in fury.

"He's not to blame," said Crawford with a smile. "You see, God killed his family."

"We will not listen to this blasphemous nonsense!" cried Bracy. "Surrender, man! We have you outnumbered, and you cannot shoot us all before you too are killed."

"Perhaps you have a point," said Crawford. "Stand down, Schuldig. British justice is famous, and we shall have to be tried by our peers. I surrender, sir." So saying, he slowly and carefully took out his revolvers, holding out the butts before him. One of the men stepped forward to take them and in a movement both swift and nonchalant, Crawford spun the revolvers up to rest in his hands, firing both as he did so. With a cry the soldier dropped to the ground, and Schuldig laughed and fired from his rocky shelf. Crying out in alarm, the soldiers sought shelter as best they could, firing back. None of their shots seemed to go anywhere near their targets, however, the bullets flying off in odd directions and chipping slivers of rock from the walls before them. Laughing, Schuldig leapt from the rocky shelf, landing as neatly as if he had merely stepped from a low stair. Without seeing the German even move, Bracy felt hands tugging his sword free, and then he was spun about and shoved hard off balance, landing with a gasp in Crawford's arms. Roberts found himself facing Schuldig who grinned and raised Bracy's sword.

"Come now," said Schuldig, "I know you officers learn to fence. I will even give you three seconds to draw your sword."

Dropping his empty pistol, Roberts pulled out his sword and barely blocked Schuldig's attack.

"Not bad," laughed Schuldig, "though it seems to me that you are not as fast as you need to be." His weapon flickered out faster than Roberts could see, catching him across the cheek. "That's better," said Schuldig, "a man should have a few scars."

"All of you!" roared Crawford, putting a revolver to Bracy's temple. "Drop your weapons, or I swear, I'll blow his brains out!"

The few remaining soldiers paused and then first one and another threw their rifles down.

"Shoot him!" cried Bracy. "Gedge! Shoot him!"

Crawford looked at Gedge as he hesitantly raised his rifle, and laughed. "Go on, then, boy," he said. "Make me kill him, don't think I won't."

With an ejaculation of fury, Gedge threw down his rifle with the others, backing off till he stood over Wilson on his stretcher.

"Good," said Crawford. Then, raising his voice he called, "Nagi! Bring the _dov_."

Nagi emerged from hiding in the crevices and chasms in the rocks, dwarfed by the huge creatures he led on reins.

"Good boy," said Crawford, "you did well. Lieutenant, mount, if you would be so kind. Schuldig, bring the other officer too. We don't need the others."

Schuldig drew a revolver, and indicated to Roberts that he should go towards the _dov_. Then he turned, with an evil glint in his eyes, saying, "If we do not need them, Crawford --"

"Yes, yes," said Crawford, "only be quick."

"Bill," whispered Wilson in a thread of a voice. "Take my revolver, Bill."

Quick as he could, Gedge sank to one knee, and seized up the revolver from Wilson's holster. Not taking the time to rise to his feet once more, he shot as Schuldig laughingly aimed his rifle at a horrified soldier. With a cry, Schuldig was spun round by the force of the bullet, falling and lying still.

"Schuldig!" cried Crawford.

"No!" screamed Nagi, and, dropping the reins of the _dov_ pointed at Gedge, screaming again, "No!" A force like a mighty wind picked Gedge up and pounded him down on the ground, leaving him feel shocked and jarred all over. He struggled to sit up, to see Crawford, his face white and set, slam his revolver butt into the back of Bracy's skull, the officer falling insensible to the ground. Nagi screamed again, and every soldier standing found himself knocked over, as if he had been punched hard. Crawford rushed over, and hauled Schuldig up onto his shoulder, throwing him then over the back of a _dov_ , and leaping up behind. Gedge watched, his eyesight dimming, as the _dov_ left with all speed, Crawford holding Schuldig in place, and Nagi weeping. Then they were gone, and Gedge let his head fall back, and dark unconsciousness took him.


	24. Chapter 24

_The desert, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
Only when they had ridden for over two miles, the strange scurrying movement of the _dov_ at full speed rocking them from side to side, did Crawford halt.

"Schuldig!" he said, leaping from his mount and pulling the German down into his arms. As he felt for a pulse Schuldig's eyes opened a little and he grimaced horribly in what Crawford was sure was meant to be a smile. "Don't speak," he said quickly, and laid Schuldig down on the ground, opening his clothing to see the wound. "It's high," he said, astonished how calm his voice sounded.

"It hurts to breath," Schuldig's voice said in his mind, very faintly.

"Shh," said Crawford. "We'll find Farfarello and then we'll have all the medical supplies to work with." He tapped the _dov_ 's leg and the great beast obediently sank down to be mounted once more. "Nagi," said Crawford. "Can you lift him up onto the _dov_ for me?"

"I can try to," said Nagi in a childish voice still full of tears. He lifted a hand carefully and Crawford held on tight to Schuldig's arm as he was lifted up and put carefully on the beast's back.

"Thank you," said Crawford, leaping up behind him. "Lean back on me, Schuldig. I hope it will be more comfortable for you like this." Schuldig was very heavy against him, and he settled the German as securely and comfortably as he could.

"Did you see this?" said Schuldig in his mind once more.

"Shh, save your strength," said Crawford in like manner. Then, for he knew Schuldig would hear him one way or another he thought, "I only saw us together afterwards, looking for Farfarello."

"Be more precise from henceforth," thought Schuldig, and let himself fall into unconsciousness.

Crawford thought long and hard about Farfarello, seeing all at once in his mind's eye the Irishman preparing food for them all. "Not such a pleasant future," he thought, trying to distract himself from worry, and then forcing himself to see the surroundings in which Farfarello would work. Finally he swung his _dov_ 's head in the right direction and moved off at a fast, smooth pace with Nagi in his rear.

It took almost another hour and a half, and the light was fading, before he recognised the place he had seen in his vision, and Farfarello stepped from hiding, his rifle ready in his hand.

"What happened?" he asked in shock, seeing Crawford carefully take Schuldig down from the _dov_. "Was he careless?"

Crawford bit back a retort and shook his head. "No," he said. "Unlucky, not careless. I'm going to need you to boil some water."

"I have some on the fire now," said Farfarello, "I was going to boil some meat for dinner."

"Good," said Crawford. "Clear half the supplies from the cart, I'm going to need someplace flat and steady to work." He paused as Farfarello hastened to obey. "Farfarello?" he said, "the guide?"

"Dealt with," said Farfarello shortly, heaving sacks of food over the side of the cart.

"Nagi," said Crawford, "when the cart is clear enough, I want you to lift Schuldig up there."

"Yes," whispered Nagi, still sitting forlornly on his _dov_. He seemed to Crawford almost as he had been when they first found him, ready to retreat into himself and watching the world, as it were, from behind a pane of glass.

"Nagi," said Crawford firmly, "get down." He caught the boy as he obediently slid from his mount, and embraced him briefly. "Don't worry," he said. "You've done well today, and Schuldig's far too stubborn to die." The boy leaned against him wearily, and Crawford indulged himself in stroking his unruly hair. Nagi would be better after he had eaten and slept, Crawford told himself. There was work to do before that could happen, however.

"It's ready," said Farfarello, jumping down from the cart.

"Light some lamps," said Crawford, and gently put Nagi back from him. "I need you to lift him onto the cart for me," he said, and was gratified when the boy simply nodded, and, with great concentration, carefully moved Schuldig's limp form to lie in the back of the cart. Crawford climbed up, and as gently as he could, removed Schuldig's clothing, noting in dismay the angry wound piercing his shoulder. He bit back a curse as what he had feared became obvious. The bullet had not passed through, but was lodged within the wound. "I'll need more light," he said, and busied himself washing the wound and his hands, and then taking the medical equipment over to the fire, holding a wickedly sharp scalpel in the flames. Coming back, he gently patted Schuldig's face till the German opened his eyes, then saying, "Schuldig, I want you to take something. I have some of the pills we gave Nagi on the ship. They'll help with the pain, but you won't be able to read minds."

"But they will help?" said Schuldig hoarsely, "I'll take them."

Crawford lifted his head a little, and put the pills in his mouth, following them with some water. Schuldig swallowed and very quickly his eyes became distant, and he closed them as if to sleep. Crawford took up the scalpel and readied himself, and did not cut, as Schuldig opened his eyes again and wearily focused them on Crawford's hand.

" _Verdammt_ ," muttered Schuldig, sounding as if he were observing something far off of little interest to him. "Again you play doctor with me."

Crawford looked down at him, and felt his nerve quail at the thought of hurting his friend, immediately feeling anger at himself and at Schuldig for inducing such weakness. "It is what he needs," he told himself and, raising his voice, called, "Nagi! I want you to hold him still." Nagi came over, and Crawford looked at him in dawning realisation. "No," he said, "no! Nagi! I want you to take the bullet out - he won't have to suffer my attempts at surgery. It's neat work, but I know you can do it."

Nagi stepped back, shaking his head. "I can't!" he cried, "I can't! I'd just hurt him more!"

"You _must_ ," said Crawford angrily, "he'll be hurt a lot more if I have to cut him open. Come now, Nagi, don't shirk this."

"No," whispered Nagi. "It's too small, I don't know how to do it. It's not like _breaking_ things, Crawford."

"I'm telling you, you can do this!" cried Crawford, "will you disobey me?"

"I can't, I can't," wailed Nagi. "I'm sorry!"

Crawford bowed his head. "All right," he said at last. "All right. I won't ask a man to do something he truly cannot. I'll cut it out." He took a deep breath, looking down at Schuldig, then looked back at Nagi, who seemed very relieved. "Nagi," he said quietly, "it really is all right. You mustn't think that I will love you any less because of this."

Nagi's boyish face went slack with shock, as if he had not previously considered this. "Crawford," he said, with tears in his eyes.

"Help Farfarello prepare some food," said Crawford, "the three of us will need to eat. I'll manage with Schuldig."

"I won't leave you," said Nagi, clutching at his sleeve. "Don't send me away. Crawford, please, I want to help you."

Crawford looked at him silently, then extended a hand to pull him up into the cart. "Will you do it?" he asked. Nagi nodded convulsively, and put his hands out over Schuldig, keeping them some inches from his skin.

"It's hard," he whispered, "I don't know what I'm feeling for. " He closed his eyes and his face creased in concentration.

" _Gott_ ," said Schuldig suddenly, in a voice that did not sound in the slightest amount drugged. " _Mein Gott_."

"It's all right," said Crawford, seeing how Nagi flinched and shook. "It'll be over soon."

Schuldig turned pain-filled eyes on him. "Brad," he said.

"I'm here," said Crawford, taking his hand, "I'm here."

Nagi put his hands onto the wound and seemed ready to faint. Schuldig made a bitten-off noise and went limp, the blood from the wound now flowing freely. Nagi collapsed back against the side of the cart, and then, without saying anything, slipped down to the ground and ran into the gathering dusk. Crawford did not spare him a second glance, instead cleaning Schuldig and bandaging his shoulder neatly. Only when this task was accomplished to his satisfaction did he cover the unconscious Schuldig with a blanket and, taking a lantern, go in search of Nagi. He found the boy at some distance from their camp, kneeling in the sand and weeping, his red-stained hands pressed to his face.

"Nagi," said Crawford quietly, not wishing to alarm the lad. "It's all right, you did very well." Putting the lantern on the ground, he knelt beside the boy, and pulled him close. "You're a good boy," he said. "Thank you." Wordlessly, Nagi held up a hand, opening it to reveal the bullet. "You hold on to that," said Crawford, cradling the boy against him, "you give it to him when he's feeling better, so he can see what you did for him."

"I hurt him," said Nagi. "I didn't want to hurt him."

"I know," said Crawford, "and he knows too. Come now, don't cry, it's all right." Nagi coughed and hiccupped something about jealousy and Crawford was careful not to smile. "Of course you're not jealous of him, he knows that. We have both always liked you, Nagi, and that's not going to change. Come on, come back to the fire." He stood, drawing the lad up with him and, as if he were a much younger boy, took his hand to lead him back to the fire.

As he had thought, Nagi stayed awake barely long enough to wash his hands and face and eat, collapsing over sideways to lie curled up on the ground. Crawford put a blanket over him, and went to check on Schuldig, who stirred uneasily.

"Hello," said Crawford. "You're going to take another pill, and then you're going to sleep, do you hear me?" He put the pill into Schuldig's mouth, giving him a drink of water and then laying his head down carefully again.

"My head feels -- odd," said Schuldig.

"It's the pills," replied Crawford. "They'll let you sleep, though." He watched Schuldig fight to keep his eyes open.

"Say something nice for me to dream about," murmured Schuldig, sounding as if he were already asleep.

"You won't remember it later," said Crawford quietly. He stroked Schuldig's face, looking at the perspiration-matted hair that lay in rats'-tails about the German's head. "Your hair is beautiful," he said.

" _Das ist nett von dir_ ," said Schuldig with a little smile.

"Of course it's nice, I can be very nice when I want," said Crawford, and kissed his brow. "Go to sleep."

Leaving Schuldig, Crawford sat again by the fire, forcing himself to eat more of Farfarello's cooking. He need the food, and it would be wasteful not to eat it. Across the fire, Farfarello sat, head in hands.

"Will he live?" asked Farfarello.

"I hope so," said Crawford. "I have no future knowledge of it." He took off his spectacles, pinching the bridge of his nose as a headache made itself known. "He's strong," he went on, talking as it were to himself. "He should be fine."

"Crawford," said Farfarello, "I have to tell you something. I fear I am the cause of this." He looked aside as if embarrassed. "I took a book from the church to read, and having read it, forgot about it. I left it in my room."

Crawford stared at him coldly. "They said they had evidence, and a book was indeed mentioned," he said.

"There was blood on it," sighed Farfarello. "You mustn't blame Nagi for not telling you," he said, "he told me to get rid of it, and I told him I'd burn it. I never found the time, somehow."

"I see," said Crawford. "I am very disappointed in your carelessness, Farfarello. This whole _fiasco_ is the result of your idiocy. If Schuldig dies, I--" he stopped himself before he could finish the sentence.

"I'm sorry," said Farfarello. "I never meant for any of this to happen." He stood up, saying, "you're exhausted. I'll take first watch. Are we leaving tomorrow, or will you be giving Schuldig a chance to rest here?"

"We'll be leaving," said Crawford in an icy voice. "The provisions can be packed onto his and the guide's _dov_."

Without another word, for he was shaken by the depth of his rage against Farfarello, Crawford rolled himself in his blanket and lay by the fire. He lay wakeful and worried for many hours before sleep finally claimed him.

  


* * *

  
 _The ambush site, north east of New London, 1880_

  
Gedge sat miserably, his head throbbing with pain, listening to the officers arguing. It seemed they had gone beyond caring if any of the men, those who were left alive, heard them raise their voices to one another. Bracy was insistent that he should be the one to go and fetch aid, while Roberts, whose injury was slighter, should be the one to remain with the dead and wounded, lest the enemy return and more fighting take place. Roberts for his part was insistent that Bracy should remain, as his head wound had left him dizzy and prone, when he thought no one was watching, to losing his balance. Gedge wished they'd stop, for it made him most uneasy to think that gentlemen might so forget themselves as to act in such a manner. He was worried also for Bracy's health, for it was true that the blow to his head had injured him more sorely than he pretended. The sword cut to Roberts' face, while unpleasant was in no way as serious, and had been easily treated. Gedge looked about him, feeling deeply sorrowful at the sight of six of his comrades laid out in the shade of the rocks, never to see home and family again. Behind him, Roberts once more stated his opinion that Bracy's dizziness precluded him from attempting to reach the garrison.

"Don't be stupid, Rob!" cried Bracy, "it is for that very reason that you must be the one to stay and organise the defence! If I were to swoon during a combat we should immediately be down one man - you are in far better health and will be of much greater aid to the men than I ever could. I will take Gedge, and he will ensure we both reach the garrison and return with aid. You'll be glad to do so, won't you, Gedge?"

"I'll go anywhere with you, sir," said Gedge loyally, jumping to his feet. "I'll get you back to the garrison!"

"For Heaven's sake, man!" cried Roberts, "you will stay here and Gedge can make sure you don't swoon. You can't even _see_ straight! I'm going, I'm taking one of the uninjured men, and I will bring aid back. _You_ will do as you're told and stay here. You'd be dead of sunstroke before you reached the canal!"

"No, Rob, listen! I can make good time --"

"Lieutenant Bracy!" roared Roberts. "I am giving you a direct order, do I make myself clear?"

Bracy drew himself up stiffly, offence in every line. "Perfectly, sir," he said. "If I might voice an opinion, sir --"

"You may not!" cried Roberts furiously. "Gedge!"

"Yes, sir?" said Gedge timidly.

"If Mr Bracy so much as looks like he's thinking of going for aid, you are to place him under arrest, do you understand me?" said Roberts.

"Yes, sir," said Gedge, adopting the stance of a soldier on parade who most earnestly hopes the officers will move on quickly.

"Very well. Now, Bracy, keep the men in shade as much as you can. I'm taking Johnson with me, we'll leave as much of our kit here as we can, and we should make good time. You'll be all right, won't you?"

"I'm sure we'll manage perfectly well, sir," said Bracy distantly.

Roberts sighed, and readied himself for the journey, calling out for Johnson, one of the few uninjured soldiers, to attend him. Within a short space of time they were ready to leave. Gedge watched Roberts speak quietly to Bracy once more, putting a hand on the younger officer's shoulder and looking most concerned. At last they shook hands firmly, smiling at each other in some embarrassment, and Roberts and Johnson strode away. Bracy walked slowly back to the other soldiers and spoke quietly to each man, inquiring after their health and their _morale_. Wilson clung weakly to his hand, and cried a little, wiping at his eyes in shame. Bracy came at last to Gedge, and indicated that the young solider should come apart from the others.

"Well, Gedge," said Bracy, "we are in poor shape here. You are uninjured, but almost all the rest of us have sustained injuries of some kind. Poor Wilson believes himself to be dying."

"Oh, sir," said Gedge, holding back tears with difficulty. "He ain't, is he?"

"I am no doctor, Gedge," said Bracy. "We must keep him alive till Dr Morton may attend to him. What I mean to say to you is this, you must help me as much as you can, for the others are hampered by their wounds. I am depending on you - if you feel that my injury is endangering the others by making me careless or weak, you must take command. I mean this, Gedge."

"Sir!" said Gedge uneasily, "I wouldn't really arrest you, sir."

"You must do your duty," said Bracy, and smiled cheerfully at the young private. "But I am sure it will not come to that. Now, help me bring water to the men who cannot move."

They spent all that day caring for the wounded, and Gedge organised those men who could walk at least a little into watches during the day and the night. Becoming worried during his watch at the heavy quality of Bracy's breathing, he shook the officer gently awake and watched how it took too long a time for his eyes to focus.

"Sir," said Gedge, "I don't think it's so good for you to sleep. You jest sit up with me for a while."

"Talk to me, Gedge," said Bracy, shivering. "I will sleep otherwise."

Gedge put a blanket about him, and spoke about how he had felt that an angry wind had lifted him and slammed him into the ground, how other soldiers had mocked Wilson for not knowing his left from his right, how grateful he was to be in the army, the jobs he had held as a boy, and even what he remembered from his school lessons. Towards dawn Bracy's eyes closed and he laid his head on Gedge's shoulder, fast asleep. His breathing seemed easy and regular, so Gedge did not wake him, instead putting an arm about him to hold him safe. All that day Gedge went from man to man, seeing that they had whatever was available for their comfort.

"You hold on, John," he said to Wilson, who looked horribly ill. "Don't you go dying on me."

"Do m'best, Bill," whispered Wilson, and sipped obediently at the soup Gedge had made.

It was on the fourth day after Roberts and Johnson had left them that the man on sentry duty called out, saying he could see people approaching. Bracy leapt to his feet, and staggered, being supported by Gedge, clambering then to the sentry's vantage point and surveying the landscape with his glass. Looking back down to where the men gazed up at him in hope he smiled, crying out, "The regiment has come for us, my lads!"

"Hooray!" cried the soldiers with all the strength that was left to them.

"And you shall not have to wait till we are home for aid, for I see the Doctor," cried Bracy.

The men cheered again, feeling themselves well already. What seemed to them an eternity later, although it was in truth less than an hour, the wounded men were being loaded onto ambulance wagons and feeling grateful for the attention not only of the doctor but his fearsome nurse, Mrs Gee, who had, it seemed, refused to let the wagons come without her. Gedge watched Wilson stare up at her in abject terror as she instructed him that he was by no means to displease her by dying, and smiled in relief. He sat in the back of one of the wagons, and, as they started on their journey back to the garrison, allowed himself to fall into the deepest sleep he had enjoyed in days.

Once the fortress was reached, and the most badly injured soldiers removed to the hospital, Bracy and Roberts found themselves summoned before Colonel Graves.

"These men have by now a week's head start on any pursuit," said the colonel. "Have we any real chance of capturing them?"

"Yes," said Bracy fervently. "If we take a small mounted force, and _ayit_ as well, we can track them down, I am quite sure."

"Bracy's right," said Roberts. "One of them is badly wounded, and they cannot move him quickly. If we take the fastest _dov_ we may --"

"Wait," said the colonel. "I know you wish to see justice done, gentlemen, but we must also consider the expense involved."

"The expense, sir?" asked Roberts.

" _Ayit_ are not cheaply come by," said the colonel, "nor are their riders cheaply trained. These men have already shot down one, I cannot risk losing more. Neither can I countenance wilfully putting the men into jeopardy to capture criminals when we have so recently seen that we need every man to defend the city against attack from the natives. Moreover, their lead against any possible pursuit means they will be deep into the hills, and as such, deep into native territory."

"What are you saying, sir?" cried Bracy. "Are we to let them escape?"

"If they wish to leave the planet," said the colonel, "they must come back to New London. If and when they return, we shall of course apprehend them and deal with them as justice demands. However, I will not authorise an expedition into the native princedoms to extract them. It would provoke the natives, and would most likely be pointless. The criminals are unlikely to survive their excursion. I'm sorry, gentlemen, but that is my final word on the matter."

Much chastened, Bracy and Roberts left his office.

"Oh!" ejaculated Roberts, "I feel sure we could capture them!"

"I too!" said Bracy eagerly. "Oh, how horrid it is to hear such an order!"

"Well, we must return to our everyday lives, it seems," said Roberts, and looked at his friend shyly, saying, "I hope you may forgive my intemperate words to you in the desert, Bracy, old chap?"

"Rob! Of course!" cried Bracy, holding forth his hand, which Roberts shook heartily.

It was two days later that Bracy, dismayed by the amount of papers to be dealt with that had somehow multiplied in his absence, was delighted when a distracting knock came upon his office door.

"Come in," he cried.

"Mr Bracy," said the soldier who looked in at him. "There's a person here to see you, sir."

"Well, show him in," said Bracy.

The soldier hesitated. "He ain't yer normal sort of person, sir," he said.

"Show him in, man," said Bracy, throwing down his pen. "If he has business with me, I'll see him, no matter what sort of person he may be."

The soldier withdrew his head, saying to an unseen person, "Mr Bracy'll see you now."

Bracy stood politely as the man entered the room. He was tall and well built, with dark wavy hair and light-brown skin. Holding out a hand to Bracy he smiled brightly, his dark eyes friendly.

"I believe we have an interest in common, Lieutenant," he said in an American accent. "My name is Micah Crawford."


	25. Chapter 25

_The desert, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
Crawford spent the entirety of the next day worrying as Schuldig lay by turns as one dead in the back of the cart, or looked in bewilderment up into the sky as if seeing sights visible to no one else. The pills supplied to him from Germany were strong, and Schuldig had never taken them before. That they could be taken for extended periods of time Crawford was sure, having seen no lasting side-effects in Nagi. His worry was ridiculous, he decided, and was simply proof that he was letting his friendship with Schuldig overcome his rational mind. The mind reader would do well enough, he was convinced, if they could but gain a large lead on any possible pursuit and camp somewhere secure for a few days. The speed with which Schuldig was blessed was evident not only in his movement, but also in his healing. It did not matter that the same speed applied also to the effects of the pills, making it necessary to give to him twice the amount that had been given to Nagi to yield the same effects. Crawford grimly forced himself to adopt an optimistic outlook. The bullet wound in the Balkans had healed quickly and cleanly, this wound would surely do likewise.

Turning his attention to the others, Crawford noted Farfarello's quiet and respectful appearance and thought with some satisfaction that the Irishman was properly remorseful. The apparent feud between Schuldig and him was indeed only apparent, and Crawford knew he deeply regretted where his careless actions had led. He would also, most certainly, be wondering what Crawford might do if Schuldig indeed died. So far Crawford's foresight showed him no danger from Farfarello, for which he was grateful. He did not wish to be put in the horrid position of being forced to kill his own team, especially having offered them their freedom.

Nagi provided more cause for concern, being quiet and withdrawn, his sleep having been disturbed by nightmares. Crawford gave him a smile of encouragement, receiving only a blank look in return. When they camped that night, after they had eaten and he had attended to Schuldig's needs, Crawford took the boy in hand. His own sleep had been broken and disturbed the night before, both by worry and by the simple fact that he had become, over the years, unused to sleeping alone. Accordingly he decided to, as it were, kill two birds with one stone, and took the boy in his arms when they lay down to sleep, spreading their blankets over them both. At first as stiff and shy as he had been when they had found him, Nagi relaxed all at once, sniffling a little as if he could not quite believe he was still loved. Crawford held him close, shutting his eyes and falling into sleep almost immediately and not waking until it was time for his turn on watch.

After another day and a half of travel they were deep into the chasms and canyons of the hills, and Crawford decided that it was safe enough to stop. Schuldig's skin was damp and hot, and the wound was showing signs of infection. Accordingly, they found a defensible spot, and set up camp under a rocky overhang that gave excellent protection from the harsh rays of the sun. Once Schuldig had been made as comfortable as possible, and the confines of their camp had been fully explored, Crawford spoke to Farfarello and Nagi in all seriousness, saying, "We must be quiet and circumspect while we are in these hills. The people who live here have no love for their British neighbours, nor for the natives who first inhabited the area of the British colony. They will not stop to ask if we are English, should we offend them. So, from now on we must have only the smallest fires, with as little smoke as possible, so that we may avoid attracting attention. We will also ride ready to fight, when we leave here." Farfarello nodded, and went out to collect the dry branches of the native thorn bushes that grew even in the driest of places. Smiling at Nagi, Crawford went on, "Come and help me with Schuldig."

Although he had given Schuldig a pill but a short while before, Crawford made him take another, and, when a small fire had been built and he had held the scalpel blade in the flames, carefully opened the wound to allow the infection to drain away. With his ability, Nagi held Schuldig still, staring in fascination at Crawford's careful actions. After the wound was clean once more and was freshly bandaged, they left Schuldig to sleep.

"Didn't that hurt him?" asked Nagi, eyes wide.

"Yes, but it is sometimes necessary to give slighter hurts now and so avoid greater ones in the future," said Crawford. "I am glad he was spared my attentions at the first, for I am no doctor, and no doubt he would now be in a far worse state." He tousled Nagi's hair saying, "He will be most grateful to you, you'll see."

The boy smiled shyly, and sat close by him when it was time to eat, proclaiming loyally that he liked the food that Crawford had cooked, and proving this by taking a second helping when Farfarello, grinning, offered it to him. Crawford, for his part, had diverted himself by shredding some of their dried meat into pieces so fine as to be almost thread-like, dropping the fruits of his labours into boiling water and making tehrefrom a broth that he gave to Schuldig when it had cooled. His exertions in providing dinner for himself and the others had been far slighter, and he snorted in dry laughter to see Nagi eat so heartily. a sudden sight flash across his mind, of Schuldig sitting by a fire such as they now sat by, and pushing food about his plate with an expression of the most exquisite disgust upon his face. He closed his eyes in relief, having up till then seen nothing of Schuldig's future, although he had tried. "I was right to say we'd stop," he thought. "Who knows but that infection might have proven fatal if we had gone on even another half day?" He smiled at the others in great good humour, telling them of his vision, and saw some of the strain ease from about Farfarello's eye.

"May I practice my reading?" asked Nagi, in a hopeful voice.

"Yes," said Crawford. "If we are to be here a day or two we should find matters with which to occupy ourselves."

Gleefully, Nagi produced the novels given to him by Schuldig, and, settling himself comfortably into the crook of Crawford's arm, read passages aloud. Crawford paid little attention past thinking the lad had become more fluent in his reading, and that Schuldig had perhaps been right in his suggestion of more frivolous reading materials. "I will tell him that," he thought, "it will make him laugh, that I agree with him so easily." That night he slept easily and peacefully, curled about Nagi's slight frame.

The next morning, Schuldig sat up at looked at the camp with sleep and drug-befuddled eyes, wincing as he tried to raise his arm. Crawford smiled and helped him from the cart, whereupon he took no more than five steps and sat down, exhausted.

"Have some coffee," said Farfarello, thrusting a tin cup into his hand and waiting expectantly. Schuldig obediently drank and handed the cup back, wordlessly. "Those pills must be strong," said Farfarello, "if he's not complaining about my coffee."

Crawford found himself able to smile easily at the Irishman, and contented himself with persuading Schuldig to eat.

"You should take your pills," he said, holding them out to Schuldig.

After a moment's pause, Schuldig shook his head, saying hoarsely, "No. Not yet." He hunched over, shivering a little even in the growing heat of the morning.

"Well," said Crawford, putting them back into their bottle. "You can take them later." He watched Schuldig carefully as the morning progressed, seeing how he became more alert and more like himself as the drugs' effects wore away. Going over once more, he took out the bottle of pills and watched how Schuldig clearly fought the urge to ask for them.

"Are you in much pain?" asked Crawford.

"It is not so bad," said Schuldig. "I don't need them yet. If it gets worse I will take one, Crawford but not now. I cannot stand the silence."

"Ah," said Crawford. "Don't worry, you'll be worming my secrets from me again soon, I have no doubt."

"It's horrid," said Schuldig, "it is like being deaf and having my head stuffed with sawdust."

"It will wear off quickly," said Crawford. He thought for a moment how he might distract his friend, then continuing, "We could spare the water for you to wash, if you like."

Schuldig, who when the opportunity was given him was as fastidious in his toilet as any cat, smiled brightly at such an offer, and Crawford filled a large flask from their water barrel, picking up a flannel and soap also. Rummaging in his own pack he took out his shaving kit, and then helped Schuldig to rise and walk further into the canyon in which they were camped. Seating the German on a low boulder, he first attended to the wound, unwrapping the bandages and seeing that all was well. Then, dampening the flannel and applying the soap he washed Schuldig's face and limbs, using the water as economically as possible until he was, if not as clean as he might wish, at least cleaner than he had been, finally shaving him with care, and letting him sit back to dry in the heat of the sun.

"You make an excellent nursemaid," said Schuldig with a smile, "who would have thought that hands so used to hurrying people from the world could be so careful in their attentions?"

"I hope I am always careful in my attentions," smiled Crawford. "We cannot spare the water to wash your hair as well, I'm afraid. If we can barter or buy water from some village I will make sure you may wash it, however." He ran his hands through Schuldig's hair, which though unwashed had, at least, now been combed into neatness. "I was worried for you," he said softly. "I had Nagi remove the bullet, do you remember?"

"No," said Schuldig, leaning into the touch. "I am thankful that I remember little of any of this."

"He was very upset, you must be kind to him," said Crawford. "It is as if he has been glued to my side ever since. Farfarello must have tied him down, or he would surely have followed us. So be kind when you see him later."

"I will be so kind you will feel me a reformed man," said Schuldig. "Is there any water left in that flask?"

"Yes, some," said Crawford, "are you thirsty?"

"I wondered if there was enough to wash more, if I needed to," said Schuldig.

"I suppose so," said Crawford, "I did my best when you were ill, I would have comforted you better if I had been able."

"Ah!" ejaculated Schuldig, "such excuses I am forced to endure from you, Herr Crawford! Well, you must just comfort me now, and then I shall forgive you." He smiled brilliantly, reaching up and twining his good arm about Crawford's neck, pulling him down for a kiss. "As a wounded comrade, I feel I am a man in need of much comfort," he said in a low voice.

"As your nursemaid it is of course my duty to provide comfort," said Crawford with a smile, setting the water safely on the ground for their later use.

"Let us hope Farfarello's knots are secure, and Nagi doesn't escape," grinned Schuldig.

Crawford laughed, and embraced him carefully and with great joy.

  


* * *

  
 _New London Garrison, 1880_

  
Bracy looked at the man standing before him in astonishment, then took his hand in a firm grip.

"Micah _Crawford?_ " he asked.

"Yes," said the man, shaking his hand.

"Sit down, Mr Crawford, please," said Bracy, "And tell me how we can be of help to one another."

The man favoured him with a queer smile and sat opposite him. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said. "There are many gentlemen who would not act as courteously towards me as you have just done."

"I hope any man, no matter what his station, may find me courteous," said Bracy.

"Let us not speak of such things," said the man, "the world is as it is, and we have other concerns. Let me speak frankly. First, I must show you my credentials, Lieutenant." He brought from his breast pocket a wallet, from which he unfolded several papers. "I am, as you may gather from my manner of speech, an American. I am employed by Pinkerton's Detective Agency, and I have come to Mars seeking information - and if possible to arrest - three men whom, I believe, you have also been hunting: Bradley Crawford, Schuldig and Farfarello."

Bracy took the papers, sitting back and reading them quickly before handing them back.

"Excuse my curiosity," he said, "but I _must_ ask. Your name --"

The other man grinned broadly. "A very natural question, Lieutenant, and I am not offended. There is indeed a connexion between Bradley Crawford and I. To put it plainly, if matters had not changed so very much in America due to the war, Bradley Crawford would own me. His family held mine in servitude."

Bracy flushed bright red, to think he had caused such deep wounds to be reopened with his question. "Pray excuse me --" he began.

"No, no," cried the other, "shall I be ashamed of something that was in no way the fault of my ancestors or myself? My name is easily explained, Lieutenant. As slaves we had no name, the most venerable man or woman being addressed solely by their Christian name by any white person. When freedom came, the easiest name to adopt was often that of our old masters. You may imagine, I suppose," he went on with a mischievous smile, "how aggrieved many old families must have been to be suddenly surrounded by so many new holders of their respectable names. Moreover, and I must apologise, for there is no way I can see of putting this delicately, as you can see from my features," he said, indicating his face with a small gesture, "I have no doubt some European forebears. The name is mine by adoption and most likely by relation, and so I use it."

Bracy's colour deepened further, and he felt himself wholly inadequate to continue such a conversation. As he cast about for something to say, the other man, taking, as it seemed pity upon him, produced more papers from his wallet, laying them out on the desk between them.

"I have been following these men for some time, Lieutenant Bracy. Their involvement in a series of murders in several states is something I seek to prove, including, and here I am sure I will catch your interest, the slaughter of priests of the Roman Catholic church in New York and San Francisco."

Bracy leaned forward, in great excitement. "Yes!" he ejaculated, "that is interesting indeed! Mr Crawford, if I might beg your indulgence for a short while, there are others I would like to be here when you tell this story, so that you may not have to repeat yourself."

"Of course," he said.

Bracy stood and crossed to the door, calling for a soldier to attend him. Catching the first man who came to his call by the arm he cried, "Ask Captain Roberts to come here at once, and then find Private Gedge and tell him I want him."

"Yes, Mr Bracy!" cried the soldier, rushing off about his task.

Another soldier being dispatched to fetch refreshments, Bracy sat once more, an eager smile upon his face. The tea, Roberts and Gedge all arrived at once, causing some confusion, but soon all was explained, and the man who had introduced himself as Micah Crawford sat back, an appreciative audience awaiting the continuation of his tale.

"Crawford's criminal career is not confined to American soil," he went on. "He is also a wanted man in Europe, in connexion once again with murders in many places across the continent."

"Good Lord!" cried Roberts. "Are these crimes carried out for some purpose, or does the man merely have some insane attachment to murder?"

Micah Crawford looked solemn and considering in his attitude, as if he were unsure as to how his words would be received. "There is indeed some purpose, Captain," he said, "for Crawford and his associates are part of a gang known to engage in acts of sedition. They are anarchists."

"Anarchists!" exclaimed Bracy, "Can you really believe that there is some anarchist plot here on Mars, Mr Crawford?"

"They must be here for some purpose," said Micah. "I propose to discover why."

"Were you chosen for the search for reasons of your familiarity with Crawford?" asked Roberts.

"In part," said Micah, "but also for reasons of my knowledge of German." He smiled at their faces, saying, "the odd intonation you might hear in some words, gentlemen, is the result of my spending some time in Germany as a boy. You spoke with Crawford, did you not?"

"In this very room!" cried Bracy angrily, thinking how Crawford had made him feel ungentlemanly with his questions.

"You perhaps noticed the same intonations in his speech?" asked Micah. "No? Well, it is no matter, perhaps he spent less time there. I'm sure he did not tell you, Lieutenant Bracy, nor you, Captain Roberts, that when he was a child, Bradley Crawford was kidnapped."

"No," said Bracy in surprise.

"We were seized together," said Micah. "They took me, I suppose, because he made it clear that he valued me, and so they saw in me a way to control him." He paused, and a queer look came into his eyes. "He told them I was his brother," he said softly. "He must have thought it would make them spare me. They took us to Germany, and I don't know what happened to him then. Having no further need of me, I was put out on the streets, not knowing a word of the German tongue, and, being taken into custody shortly thereafter, passed my childhood in a German orphanage, returning to America only as a young man, when I had earned enough to pay my passage. I found employment in the Agency that has sent me to Mars, and one of the first cases I worked on was the brutal slayings of two New York priests." He paused, drinking his tea with a haunted expression, and the three young soldiers shuddered at the memory of the murder in New London. "In the first slaying there was a witness," said Micah, "an altar boy who gave a most precise description. My investigations turned up similar cases in Europe, and, to my surprise, a description of an American accomplice of the right age and, it seemed to me, probable appearance to be none other than Bradley Crawford."

"If he tried to save you, how c'n you hunt him now?" asked Gedge, blushing as the officers looked upon him in a way that showed they had forgotten his presence.

"I don't deceive myself that his childish sentiment would have carried forward to his manhood years," said Micah. "We may have thought ourselves friends as children, as men that would have been impossible. And the crimes he has carried out since then have wiped away any soft feelings I may have had for him. These documents in German, they are copied from police files in Berlin, and concern the activities of a dangerous group of assassins and political agitators, calling themselves "Schwarz" - that, gentlemen, is the German for "black" - and the Bradley Crawford I knew is one of them, I'm sure." He sat back, speaking quietly, as if to himself. "I'll prove it, and bring him to justice."

"But why would German anarchists kidnap an American boy?" asked Bracy.

Micah laughed, saying, "No, no, they were Americans. I'm certain he was taken for a ransom, his parents were wealthy. Why we were taken to Germany I do not know, and we had barely touched German soil before I was discarded by them."

"How can we help you?" said Roberts. "I must warn you, Mr Crawford, that we have been ordered not to pursue these men further, and it is unlikely in the extreme that we can offer you aid in gathering supplies or beasts for travel."

"Oh!" ejaculated Micah, "that is a pity. Can you at least share with me any intelligence you have on these three men?"

"I believe so," said Roberts, looking at Bracy who nodded. "But there are four of them, surely?"

"Four?" asked Micah. "Crawford, a red-haired German calling himself "Schuldig", and a blond Irishman calling himself "Farfarello", these are the men I seek."

"They have a Japanese lad with them," said Bracy, "a mere boy. Crawford said he took him on in Japan, if that is to be believed."

"I did not know that, thank you," said Micah. "What else can you tell me?"

Quickly Bracy and Roberts laid out the information they had, with Micah nodding and making brief notes. At last he sat back, seemingly satisfied and smiled at them all.

"I'm sure I can at least find out more information," he said. "And, as you say, they can only leave this world at one point. Together we can capture them!" He rose to go, and stopped as Gedge, who had looked more and more as if he had something to say, looked almost as if he would burst if he did not speak.

"Beg pardon, Mr Bracy, Mr Roberts," said Gedge, "but you didn't say about them being so queer! That Schuldig, Mr Crawford, he jest -- I don't know how I can 'splain it, but it was like he was in one spot one second and right across somewhere else the next!"

"Gedge," said Bracy, "it was hot and we were all suffering somewhat from the sun. Our reactions were slower than theirs, that is all."

"But then when I shot him, I was sort of flung back," said Gedge, "ever so hard, and all the other swaddies too!" He looked imploringly at Micah, saying, "It was like something picked me up!"

"Well, I can't explain that," said Micah, with a slight frown as if he thought Gedge was making things up. "These are dangerous men who cause a great deal of trouble. There's no need to think they have some sort of magic powers as well."

"Quite," said Roberts, who had long since convinced himself that nothing uncanny had happened in the fight. "Let's have no more of that, please, Gedge."

"Yes, sir," said Gedge unhappily, watching as Micah made his farewells and left, promising to keep the garrison informed of any successes he might have. "But I was picked up by something," he said quietly, after Roberts had left. "Don't you believe me, sir?"

"What could it be?" asked Bracy kindly, "Men in battles see and do strange things, Gedge. You must have fallen for some reason, and afterwards thought of it in this way. Don't blame yourself, no one thinks less of you for falling - you are the reason they were forced to flee!"

Seeing that Bracy thought he was reassuring him, Gedge said no more, although the memory of fury swirling about him and slamming him into the ground was one that he knew he had not imagined.


	26. Chapter 26

_The desert, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
Nagi sighed in pleasure as his _dov_ swung its great blunt head round and nudged him in the midriff. He patted and scratched the great beast's neck, and looked round as Farfarello laughed.

"Watch out there, Nagi," he said, "it's not affection he's showing, he's just hungry."

"He's not," said Nagi, "he likes me." He scratched the _dov_ 's neck again. "I'm glad Crawford's not angry with you any more," he said quietly.

Farfarello looked at him silently for a moment, then said, "Huh" and went about his business. Nagi leaned against the _dov_ and thought that maybe he would saddle it and go exploring. Perhaps Crawford would come with him, it would be more interesting than sitting around all day talking to Schuldig. Maybe Schuldig would want to come too, that would be all right.

"You stay there," he said to the _dov_ , and went over to the shady corner where Crawford and Schuldig were sitting. "Can I go exploring?" he asked. "Will you come with me?"

"You're not well enough to start running around," said Crawford to Schuldig as the German opened his mouth.

"I'm bored," said Schuldig. He looked at Crawford's face and sighed, "Yes, Mutti. Sorry, Nagi, I am to be a good little boy."

"Will you come with me, Crawford?" asked Nagi, hopefully.

"If I don't, are you going to slip away and get lost, or into deeper trouble?" asked Crawford mildly.

"Oh, no," cried Nagi, who had thought of doing exactly that, although he thought he would avoid any trouble. Becoming aware that Crawford was joking, he smiled happily, glad that the American's spirits were so much lighter now that Schuldig was feeling better.

Crawford unfolded his long legs and stood up. "You rest, you hear me?" he said to Schuldig, who sighed loudly and lay down.

"I'm resting, see how I rest? Try not to get eaten by the Martians, Crawford."

"We'll be the ones to eat them, won't we, Nagi?" said Crawford, and walked over to the _dov_. "Let's just take one," he said, "it won't mind carrying us both. You get it ready, and I'll get some water."

Nagi rushed about, saddling and harnessing the great creature, then tapping its leg to make it crouch down to be mounted. Crawford sprang into its saddle, holding out a hand to pull Nagi up behind him. The _dov_ looked about, as if checking that they were both safely in place, and at Crawford's command strode off down the canyon, leaving its fellows dozing in the hot sun behind it. Once they were out of sight of the camp, although still in the areas that they had explored, Crawford tapped the _dov_ and called out a sharp command, and the creature broke into a run. Coming to a boulder in its way it did not make a _detour_ around the great rock but rather, in the manner of its kind, scurried straight up and down the other side. Crawford laughed in exhilaration, and Nagi clung on tight, laughing too. In the time he had been with the others, Crawford had rarely been in the mood purely for play, and Nagi was determined to keep him out as long as possible. When he pulled the _dov_ back to a walk, Crawford looked about him with interest at the great rocks, pointing out the eerie shapes into which the forces of nature had carved them.

"Scientists say that many of the great canyons on earth were formed by the action of water," he said, "I wonder if the same might hold true here?"

"But there isn't any water!" laughed Nagi.

"Not now, that's true," said Crawford, musing, "but I wonder if at some far distant point there might not have been?"

Fearing that their excursion might yet become the opportunity for a lesson, Nagi pointed at a rock before them, crying, "Look! Does it not look like an old man sitting down?"

"Hmm, yes," said Crawford, "he looks as if he is suffering the effects of my cooking."

Nagi giggled, and the threat of lessons receded as Crawford began telling him stories of exotic American beings such as cowboys and professional card players. At last, after an exciting story of a duel that Schuldig, Farfarello and he had fought against a gang that far outnumbered them, he paused, saying, "I have never considered, Nagi, how unsuitable all the stories I know are for young people."

"They're suitable for me," said Nagi, "if I had been there, I would have helped you."

"Of course you would," said Crawford indulgently. "You would not like Tombstone, though, it was a most unpleasant town. When we return to Earth, I will make sure you see all the great cities of Europe, their palaces and museums, that will be much more educational."

Nagi was silent as they took a side branch and, after some time, discovered it ended in a great wall of rock, making them retrace their steps. Only when they were looking at the red cliffs of another side branch did he speak, saying, "But the people in those cities won't want me in their fine buildings, unless I come in through the servants' entrance, will they?"

Crawford looked over his shoulder and stopped the _dov_. "Let's rest for a while," he said, jumping down, and pulling Nagi after him. The _dov_ settled down with a sigh as they clambered up a boulder to sit on a shaded ledge where they might catch any breeze there might be.

"I thought you understood the benefits of pretending to be a servant," Crawford said.

"Yes," said Nagi, unwilling to be seen as a silly child, "but there isn't any other role I can take on, is there?" He sighed over the injustices of the world, that seemed to him at that moment very great, and also over his own silliness in speaking seriously at a time when he wanted merely to enjoy Crawford's company. He accepted a share of the water and some food.

"Nagi," said Crawford, "I want to tell you something very important about how people perceive those of different races than their own. People," he said with a grin, "are very stupid. You will be continually underestimated by fools who see only what they want to, as we were in Japan, as exotic and laughable gaijin. This is an advantage, don't despise it, use it."

Nagi nodded quietly, and thought it would be nice, however, not to be seen as exotic and laughable, no matter how advantageous it might be.

"You're not a servant," Crawford said. "You're one of us, and you're a clever, quick-witted boy. You've seen how the English here despised me for being American, Farfarello for being Irish, Schuldig for being, well, Schuldig. It doesn't matter. It works for us more than it does against us. It is one of the things I esteem our organisation for, though I wish to be free of them, that they taught me the truth, that all men are equal given the same opportunities. Come here." He held out an arm and Nagi settled against him comfortably. "We know each other's worth," he said, "we can depend on each other, there are no truer friends than we. You are on the inside of a secure circle." Nagi sighed, happy again, and closed his eyes, feeling sleepy in the heat of the day. "No sleeping!" laughed Crawford. "We are exploring, after all." He pulled the boy up and slid back down the rocks to the _dov_ , and the two of them continued on.

When they returned to the camp, Crawford sent Nagi to care for the _dov_ , and walked over to the little fire to stare in mistrust down into the pot. Wiping his spectacles then free from the steam, he went to Schuldig's side, and would brook no protests but examined the wound.

"Shall I live?" asked Schuldig peevishly, for he had spent a hot and boring day being ignored by Farfarello.

"Of course you'll live," said Crawford, "you should begin to exercise the arm."

"Did you have a nice day, pretending you are a doting father?" asked Schuldig, wincing as he raised the arm and rotated it.

"Such jealousy," murmured Crawford. "You did yourself more good by staying here. It was very hot out there, and I am tired - you would have hurt your shoulder anew if you had been with us."

"Crawford," Schuldig said, "I am sure I am well enough for us to move on."

"Perhaps," said Crawford, lifting the injured arm and moving it in the arc it should reach. "Can you do that by yourself?"

"Yes," said Schuldig through gritted teeth, and proved it.

"You can ride in the cart," said Crawford. "It will be too tiring for you to ride. Do the exercises to strengthen it, and we'll discuss this again."

In the morning, having repacked everything onto the cart, they started off again, Schuldig irritably sitting beside Farfarello on the driver's bench.

"At least let me drive," he said.

"And have your arm jolted when the _dov_ decides to throw its head up?" said Farfarello. "No. Now if you cannot let me be, get in the back with the rest of the baggage."

Schuldig sulked for an hour, before deciding it was too hot, and no one was paying attention to him anyway. Looking about him he saw only red and yellow rocks, and the thorn buses that seemed to grow everywhere, needing no water. He sat back, half-dozing, and thinking that he should very much like to be in a cool room with a waiter bringing him a drink with ice. When they stopped to rest during the hottest part of the day he diligently did the exercises to strengthen his wounded shoulder and arm, forcing himself to perform them slowly and carefully.

"See?" he said when Crawford sat by him, "I am much better."

"Not good enough," said Crawford, moving the arm properly for him and shaking his head as Schuldig looked suddenly too calm and composed. "I admire your fortitude, but I would prefer you gave yourself a chance to heal."

"I will die of boredom," sighed Schuldig. "Surely it is my turn to be taken exploring?" he added with his most charming smile.

Crawford snorted with laughter, saying, "Perhaps later. _Rest_ , I need you whole."

Schuldig petulantly obeyed, knowing himself a bad patient, and wishing something might happen to relieve the tedium. He found it more and more difficult not to snap at the others when they brought him food and drink, or asked how his arm was feeling. It was with great relief that he finally climbed onto his _dov_ two days later, the speed with which he had healed having at last released him from being seen as an invalid. He smiled down at Nagi, who fussed about the _dov_ like a miniature mother hen.

"You must say at once if your shoulder hurts!" said Nagi, "and ride in the cart if you are tired. Don't cause yourself more pain, Schuldig."

"I won't," he said cheerfully. "Thank you for your concern, you are very good to worry over me. Put your hat on, Nagi, you will get sunstroke."

They had travelled for some hours, and were coming to the time when they should stop and rest, when Schuldig raised his head, thinking he had heard some far off whisper. Closing his eyes, he let the _dov_ carry him as it would, concentrating on what seemed to him to be a sound that only he could hear. It was all about them, he thought, and not anything he understood. "Natives," he thought, thinking back to New London. He had never come across a native person there without colonists also being nearby, and so could not say for sure if what he was now quite sure he heard within his mind was how the natives' thoughts sounded. What he was sure was that it was not any colonist.

"Crawford," he said aloud, opening his eyes and then, speaking in Crawford's mind went on, "We are being watched by natives. I don't know how many there are of them."

Crawford looked at him peacefully, like a man lulled half-asleep by the sun and the rhythm of the creature beneath him. "Tell the others," he thought, pushing his spectacles up his nose and turning back his coat to have easy access to his revolvers. Schuldig did so, Farfarello making no sign he had paid attention, and Nagi making a little squeaking sound of excitement.

"Shh," said Schuldig, with a grin. He pushed the brim of his hat up and scanned the tops of the rocks, seeing nothing. It seemed to him that the watchers were keeping pace with them, although he could not see them. The strange quality of their thoughts was intoxicating, and the very foreignness made them easier to detect. He had no fear of misleading himself with these people, for he could most clearly distinguish between their thoughts and his own. It was Nagi, he felt, who was providing the most distracting noise around, for the boy was buzzing with the joy of seeing natives and fighting them, his nervous excitement tied up somehow with stories Crawford had been telling him. "Nagi," said Schuldig, "think more quietly, if you please." He smiled to himself that the only discernible difference was now that Nagi was thinking he was a mouse. A very loud mouse, in Schuldig's estimation, but it was at least an image that was not likely to confuse the mind reader as to who was thinking what. "Aha," thought Schuldig.

"Left and right, where the rocks narrow ahead," he said in Japanese.

"Yes," replied Crawford in the same tongue, "and they will come up in our rear also. Three, if I am not mistaken."

Schuldig thought, trying to separate out the strands of unfamiliar thoughts in his mind. "I think you are correct," he said. "Three, perhaps four ahead."

Farfarello yawned and stretched in a way that brought the knives in his arm sheaths almost to his hands, and Nagi was forcing himself not to look about wildly. As they approached the rocks, a Martian wearing a brightly coloured kilt wrapped around his slender hips stepped into view on a narrow shelf at head height. The curved bladed twin swords the natives had borne in the assault on the garrison were belted about his waist. He smiled widely at them, making a gesture that their guide had told them meant peace. Squatting down on his perch, he called out to them, holding out a weaponless dark six-fingered hand and Crawford stopped his _dov_.

"Hello, my friend," Crawford said to the Martian, still in Japanese lest any of the natives have command of English, "you must think we are very stupid. I wonder where your friends are?" He looked about, singling out spots. "Schuldig," he said, then continuing only in thought, "one will appear from that crack, he will throw a spear while we are talking to the decoy here and his friends who are about to appear."

"There's another one somewhere," thought Schuldig, smiling pleasantly at the Martian, and removing his hat to wipe his face and distract the fellow with the colour of his hair, so unlike any that was found among the natives of the world.

"Ah," said Crawford, in Japanese once more, his tone warm and friendly, "they have stationed a man high up the cliff, and he has a rifle. Nagi, can you see him? He is behind Schuldig."

Nagi peered around and then back at Crawford. "Yes," he said, "I saw him."

"Good," said Crawford, as if he were calling up to the Martian, who still spoke to them pleasantly in a friendly voice. "Schuldig, you deal with this one, I'll take the one who will throw the spear, Nagi, bring down the man with the rifle, Farfarello, you have the ones behind us. Is there anyone else, Schuldig?"

"Someone else is with our cheerful friend," he said. "Don't worry, I'll take them both."

"Three, two, _one_ ," said Crawford, as footsteps sounded behind them.

Schuldig jumped from his _dov_ to the ground and straight up beside the Martian, who looked surprised and had no chance to draw his swords before Schuldig shot him in the face and leapt the ten feet to a spur of rock from where he had a vantage point to shoot the other native lying in wait. Nagi looked up at the cliff wall, clenching his fists, and making a gesture as if throwing something to the ground. From high up a figure toppled, screaming, to land with a sickening crunch in the lower rocks. Crawford drew a revolver, shooting the man who emerged from the crevice in the rock and turning to take down one of the three behind them as Farfarello flicked a knife into the throat of the second and ran for the third while that man was still pausing in surprise at the ambush having gone so wrong. It was over before a minute had passed.

"Is that all of them?" asked Farfarello. "I was hoping for more."

"That was all," Crawford said after a moment. He looked up to where Schuldig stood on the rock spur. "How's your shoulder?" he called.

"It's all right," said Schuldig, rubbing at it. "I'm a bit stiff, but I can work on relieving that."

"All right," said Crawford, turning his attention back to the others. "Clean up. Schuldig, you rest and keep a look out. Nagi, Farfarello, let's get the bodies out of view."

Within but a few minutes more the bodies of the ambushers had been hidden among the rocks by the side of the trail, and their possession were being examined.

"The water and food are really the only useful things," said Crawford. "But here, Nagi, you might like this." He held out a knife with a wickedly curved blade, and Nagi's eyes lit up.

"Are those beads worth anything?" asked Farfarello, fingering a string of blue beads he had taken from about the wrist of one of the Martians.

"I don't know," said Crawford, "they would have a curiosity value, certainly. They are stones of some kind. Keep them or give them to Nagi. He seems to be amassing a collection of native items there."

Nagi looked up a little shamefacedly from the small heap of brightly coloured leather pouches, arrow heads and polished stones he had carefully chosen. "Does anyone else want some of this?" he asked, embarrassed, as the others laughed.

"No," said Farfarello, "here, have a native rosary." He dropped the beads onto the heap, and Nagi picked out a pouch into which to put them.

"We should have brought a larger cart for your souvenirs," smiled Crawford, tousling the lad's hair and then firmly putting the boy's discarded hat on his head once again. "You did very well. Keep that hat on." He surveyed the scene, saying, "Let's move on. There must be a village not too far from here. Everyone be alert."

Schuldig jumped down to join them, smiling at the feeling of pleasant exertion in his too-long idle limbs. He was no longer bored.


	27. Chapter 27

_New London Garrison, 1880_

  
"'ello, Wilson," cried Davids, plopping down on a chair beside that soldier's sick-bed as Gedge and Fred sat on either side of the invalid. "Still skiving off, then?"

Wilson looked at his friends' faces and grinned as cheerfully as he might, dreadfully pleased to be diverted from his tedium. There was little to do in the hospital, and he had been instructed to rest, and not exhaust himself by partaking in the few amusements available. He was, therefore, eager in the extreme for visitors and waited throughout the days for the moment his friends came off duty and might come to see him.

"It's like the finest hotel in here," he said gamely, not wishing to appear glum, "jest the best of food, and entertainment every night."

"Mrs Gee must sing you nursery rhymes," said Gedge with a grin.

"Shh!" said Wilson in an agony of fear, "if she hears you I'll be the one in trouble, seeing as you lot can make a dash for it!"

"When's yer leg going to be better?" asked Fred, making as if to deliver a friendly slap to Wilson's limb that lay encased in plaster.

"Don't you dare, Fred Carr," said Wilson. He sighed, continuing, "I don't know, the doctor says I'll have to do a whole lot of his special exercises after the bone's knit. And I haven't done any of the ordinary exercises for ages. Suppose I get too weak to go back home?"

"No," said Gedge, "you'll build yerself up again, jest wait." He looked around conspiratorially, whispering, "the doctor and Mrs Gee, they ain't likely to be coming in here, are they?"

"No," said Wilson, "the doctor won't be doing his rounds again till the evening, and Mrs Gee and the orderlies were in here jest before you arrived, they won't be back for a while."

"Good," grinned Gedge, a placed a cigarette between his friend's lips. "Here we go," he said, striking a match.

"Thanks, Bill," said Wilson happily, "yer a lifesaver."

His friends also took cigarettes and sat smoking peacefully.

"Hey," cried a soldier in a further bed, "give me one, and I'll keep a look out for yer, I c'n see all the way down the hall from here."

"Thanks, pard'ner," said Gedge, giving that soldier a cigarette and then, seeing other hopeful faces, sighed and handed out the rest of the pack. "That's it," he cried, "you've cleaned me out." He returned to sit on Wilson's bed, finding that Wilson was retelling his story of the horrible fall and the long wait for help to come at last.

"He was raving and crying for his mum," said Gedge with a grin. "The heat had got ter him something terrible, he thought he was a teapot."

"It was jest the shock of seeing yer ugly face, Bill," said Wilson peaceably. "There I was, wondering what an angel'd look like, an' you pop up instead." He blew smoke up towards the ceiling with a sigh of contentment. "I'll tell yer what, though," he said, "that was some shot, to take me down like that."

"We'll get them, don't you worry, Wilson," said Gedge. "I reckon we could track them easy enough, and this time we'd know what to expect."

"You'll have to go without me," said Wilson. "I ain't going to be fit for duty any time soon."

"Anyway," said Davids, "no one's going to be tracking them down. They've gone off far enough there's no point."

"Mr Bracy wants to track them," said Gedge, "he's cut up about the orders to let them be."

"If you say so," said Fred, innocently, "you being our hexpert on the orficers." He smiled slyly at Gedge, continuing, "Mr Bracy slip you any other personal titbits, then?"

"Give over," said Gedge. "I think he wanted to help that detective. Mr Roberts made it clear the army wasn't going to, though." He sighed, wishing again that he had been believed in his statements on the uncanny nature of what had happened. "You remember, don't you, Wilson?" he said. "You remember that Schuldig fellow jest stepping off that ledge and then being all the way over by Mr Bracy?"

"I don't remember too much about any of it, Bill," said Wilson. "I jest about remember saying you should take my revolver, and I only remember that 'cos I was so worried all the time I was waiting out in the desert. I kept checking I had it, so as I could fight them if they showed up. I was that worried waiting to come back to the fort when I hadn't got it, and I had to keep telling meself you had it."

"Don't you remember me being thrown down on the ground?" asked Gedge.

Wilson shook his head sadly. "Sorry, Bill," he said. "I don't."

"That boy jest screamed at me, and I felt meself lifted up and flung down," said Gedge, "and then the others, too." He sighed. "And now no one wants to say it happened."

"You got ter agree, it sounds awful queer to say you were knocked down by some little boy yelling at you," said Davids.

"Well, I ain't saying that, am I?" replied Gedge testily, "I'm jest saying I felt I was picked up and thrown on the ground, it was like a wind or something that grabbed me."

"Well, how can a wind grab anyone?" asked Fred.

"I dunno, pard'ner," said Gedge, "I'm jest saying what it felt like, and what I saw. At least there's other swaddies who'll say they saw that Yank do the trick with his revolvers."

"That sort of thing makes sense, though," said Fred, "it's the kind of thing a man could imagine learning. Winds what grab a man, that's something else."

"Oh!" ejaculated Gedge, "a man might expect his own friends to believe him once in a while." He scowled at the others, but could not stay annoyed for long as they laughed gaily at him.

"Well," said Davids, "I 'spect we've heard the last of them, ev'ryone says they was heading straight for the hill-tribes' land. They've prob'ly ended up in some stew-pot already."

"The Martians ain't cannibals," said Gedge, who had had this disagreement with Davids on several occasions.

"You keep on thinking that," said Davids darkly, "jest don't expect me to do anything but say I warned you, when yer getting carrots and spuds sliced into the pot with you." He grinned then at Gedge, saying, "Yer an awful easy lad to tease, Bill."

"Leave the poor lad alone," said Fred in a charitable way, "he's got used to a better class of teasing." Dropping his voice he said, "Try tickling him like Mr Bracy does."

Gedge's howl of protest was drowned out by the raucous laughter of his friends, and poor Wilson, in between bursts of laughter, begging Fred to have a care and not jolt his leg.

"Hsst!" hissed the soldier whose bed gave him a vantage point from which to watch the hallway, "here she comes!"

All over the ward men pinched out their cigarettes and hid the butts beneath the pillows or the covers, and not a moment too soon, as the doctor's nurse, the youthful yet stern-faced and frightening Mrs Gee entered the room. She took a breath of the smoke-scented air and bore down upon the friends clustered about Wilson's bed.

"What do you boys mean, bringing tobacco into my ward?" she said, looking at them darkly as they sprang to their feet and looked guilty, one and all.

"Beg pardon, mum, we didn't," said Davids, not daring to meet her eyes.

"No, Mrs Gee," chorused Fred and Gedge, looking down at their boots like boys caught out in mischief.

"No?" she said, twitching back the covers and removing the partially-smoked cigarette from beside Wilson. "Where'd you get this, then, Wilson?"

"I -- found it, Mrs Gee," said Wilson in a whisper, as the other soldiers under the fearsome lady's care attempted to hide what remained of their cigarettes more securely.

"You can just unfind it," she said, and turning to the rest of the ward, continued, "and that goes for the rest of you too. This is a hospital ward, not a men's club!"

"It ain't? Then you'd best hide that ale we brought yer, Wilson," whispered Fred, who quailed as Mrs Gee looked his way.

"You boys have caused enough silliness here for one day," she said, "Out! And I don't want to see you till tomorrow!"

With mutters of "Yes, Mrs Gee," and "'Bye, Wilson," they fled out to the safety of the bright sunlight, laughing and planning on what they might smuggle in to Wilson on the occasion of their next visit.

  


* * *

  
_The desert, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
Farfarello watched Schuldig pore over the maps, his blue eyes squinting in the glare of the sun. They had travelled for miles down what seemed to be a fine, level trail, only to discover that it led at last into a dead end of jumbled rocks. Before they retraced their steps Schuldig had demanded that they peruse the maps to discover, if they could, where they had gone wrong. The day was silent but for the rustle of the paper and the occasional soft curse in German. Crawford was sitting silently upon his _dov_ , staring at nothing Farfarello could see. Nagi had crept in among the baggage and fallen asleep. It felt as if the world had stopped entirely, and they had become statues. He raised his head and looked up into the sky, noting the bright flashes around the edge of his vision and the strange black spots that moved when he blinked. There was no point in saying anything, he knew. The others never wanted to know what he saw, thinking him mad. Not, Farfarello thought, that they were wrong in that. Enough people had called him mad for the idea to be entertained seriously. So many different people could not all be entirely wrong, and to suggest that they were was, as Crawford might say, not sensible. "I am a rational sort of madman," thought Farfarello with a small grin, "they should write books about me." The flashes of brightness were getting more regular, and he looked away from the sky, pulling the brim of his hat further down to shield his eye. Sometimes, at the end of a day, his vision seemed a little blurred around the edges. The doctors in Schloß Rosenkreuz had said it was a function of strain, of forcing himself to compensate for having lost an eye. It didn't worry him, it was just something to be aware of, to deal with when it happened. Schuldig rustled the maps again, frowning and tracing a finger across the paper. Farfarello watched him, noting the hair hanging forward, hiding half of Schuldig's face from view. Rebellion, thought Farfarello happily, it made life worth living. Rebellion made Schuldig refuse how society thought a man should look, what the instructors in the castle thought proper. Rebellion made the students in the castle fight, though it cost them dear if they should be found in the act. Rebellion was what had made him jump forward into his opponent's weapon. No rules or strictures would hold him, whether of God or man, or the devils who had been his fellow students. Farfarello frowned, thinking that the only rules he had ever wholeheartedly followed were those of Crawford. How, he wondered, had that come to pass? When he failed Crawford, as he had in New London, he felt the failure as a physical blow, stronger than he felt anything that was, in truth, physical. They were his family, and if he believed in anything at all, Farfarello knew he believed in family. Families were what God took from a man. Crawford and Schuldig weren't the type of men whom God might want, for which Farfarello was grateful. "They are my brothers," he thought, and felt a certain satisfaction at the thought, knowing what a brother should do, how brothers should stand together against the world. He looked over his shoulder at Nagi, curled up in the smallest of spaces in the cart. A baby brother, he thought, or, given the way Crawford treated the boy, a nephew. A hidden knife, said Crawford, and the boy agreed, as he did with everything Crawford said. Farfarello frowned, thinking that knives should not be so queerly innocent, for they were made for one purpose only, to cut and dissect and kill. Growing bored of his own thoughts, Farfarello turned back to watching Schuldig.

"How lost are we?" he asked.

"The answer to that depends on how accurate these maps are," said Schuldig.

"They are, so I was told, the most accurate and up to date maps available," said Crawford. "An expedition some years ago brought back the information."

"There are large areas left blank," muttered Schuldig. "Shall I inscribe "Here be monsters" on them?"

"Let us at least begin to retrace our steps," said Farfarello. "We achieve nothing by sitting here."

"True," said Crawford. "Schuldig?"

" _Ja, ja_ ," said Schuldig, folding the maps up once more. "Let us get off at once, although it does not matter, we will have wasted the entire day, one way or another. I am tired of staring at these fanciful charts."

"You'll miss them once we are depending on the instructions I was given from Germany," said Crawford in amusement.

"You can be the one to deal with those," said Schuldig, pulling his _dov_ 's head around. " _Komm_ , Farfarello, you wanted to move, so move."

"What about the boy?" asked Farfarello, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the sleeping Nagi.

"Let him sleep," said Crawford, taking up the reins of Nagi's _dov_. "He will waken soon anyway."

They retraced their steps, Nagi indeed waking after no more than half an hour had passed, and climbing in some embarrassment from the cart and back onto his _dov_. Farfarello let himself fall into a waking dream, his gaze on the others in front of him merely showing him movement so that he knew he should not stop the cart. As always at such moments he could feel he was on the brink of some important discovery, as if he were about to hear some great secret laid bare at last. There was no such discovery to be made, the instructors had said, there was only the fate that a man made for himself. He had learned at last to keep silent about angels and devils, and to acknowledge only the ones who stalked the castle wearing human flesh. "And no angels amongst _them_ ," he thought, as the brightness gathered around the edges of his vision once more.

The trails they took grew more torturous as the days passed, and the great heat and the exhaustion of travel took its toll on all four of them, fraying tempers and weakening their strength. More than once the cart was stuck in softer sand, and Nagi found himself required to aid the _dov_ in freeing it, lifting it clear of the treacherous ground while the great creature strove to pull forward. The pleasure of the approval the others extended to him on such occasions could not offset the tiredness the exertions left him with and this, taken with the anger Schuldig could not disguise at the continual backtracking and delays and the obvious desire to further provoke that anger that Farfarello did not attempt to conceal, prompted Crawford to say at last that they would stop and rest, both for the sake of the _dov_ and for themselves.

"We can afford the time," he said sternly in answer to Schuldig's complaint. "Shall we wear the animals and ourselves out completely? We shall rest, and replenish our supplies of food. These hills and rocks are well-stocked with the native wild sheep. We will have fresh meat for a change, and the _dov_ may hunt until they are sated."

"We will not take overlong, I hope," said Schuldig.

"Two days, perhaps three if it seems needed," said Crawford. Turning to the others he continued, "Farfarello, Nagi, you set up the camp and guard it. Nagi, you do as Farfarello tells you, do you understand? Good boy. Schuldig, get some rest now. At dusk you and I will go out and hunt the native sheep."

"May I come?" asked Nagi eagerly.

"We'll need two men at the camp," said Crawford, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Schuldig has more experience at hunting than you, and the ability to communicate wordlessly will be most useful to us tonight." He smiled at Nagi's disappointed face, saying, "We will take you hunting another time, Nagi, don't worry. For now, though, I need you to help Farfarello. Don't you think he'd like to come along too? But he knows he is not best suited for the task. You keep him company, all right?"

"All right," sighed Nagi.

Smiling still, Crawford took a blanket and went to where Schuldig had curled up in the shade, and lay by him, yawning.

"Are we to have a holiday, then, from the others?" murmured Schuldig.

"It seems necessary," said Crawford, "the bickering grows tiresome. I will expect to find you in a better mood by morning, Schuldig."

"I have no doubt but that you shall find me so," said Schuldig gaily. "It will be a holiday indeed, to do something different."

"Sleep now," said Crawford, patting his arm, "we shall be up all night."

Lulled by the familiar sounds of the camp being set up about them, the two of them quickly drifted into sleep.

  
Out in the desert, many days behind them, a solitary traveller reined on his _dov_ , springing to the ground and kneeling by the remains of a fire. Pacing about, he noted the signs of habitation both of men and _dov_ , and, seeing the spot was well situated for a camp, smiled to himself as he took from his animal his blankets and food for the night. It was the work but of a few minutes before he had gathered enough of the thorn bushes to make a small fire and had water heating, into which he cast some the native grain to make a bland porridge. It was not interesting to eat, but he could not spare the weight or space for a variety of food. Having unharnessed his _dov_ to fend for itself, he sat and ate his dinner, looking then up at the stars scattered across the blackness of the sky, and considering his task.

"It has been a long time, Bradley," said Micah softly, "but I'm getting closer."


	28. Chapter 28

_The hills, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
Crawford's plan of breaking their journey was good, thought Schuldig. Being apart from the others, even for a little while, was a relief and made him feel as carefree as he had been when he and Crawford had been in the Balkans. Even if they did not shoot anything, he thought the hunting excursion would do them both a great deal of good. Accordingly, he willingly followed Crawford into the night, until they had gone quite some distance from their campsite.

"We should travel further," said Crawford, after they had walked for what Schuldig estimated to be a mile. "The _dov_ will surely have taken any game in this area."

"Are we not more likely to have success at dawn?" asked Schuldig. "We cannot see in the dark as can the _dov_ , after all."

"I want us to find a good area so that we might have success at dawn," said Crawford. He reached out and put a hand on Schuldig's arm, continuing, "and I very much wanted not to hear you bickering with Farfarello."

"He starts it," said Schuldig, eager to impress upon his friend how restrained he had been in his dealings with the Irishman.

"More than that," continued Crawford, laughing at him, "I wanted some privacy. I'm tired of snatching moments alone together."

Schuldig smiled to himself, knowing well that Crawford was happy to see him in such improved health, and more relieved than he knew how to say that the bickering and complaints with which he and Farfarello greeted each other showed that life was running its expected course. "Well, we have plenty of time to plot privately now," he said, letting himself be pulled close. "I think we should discuss how best we will find a place on no map, let alone make our escape from --" He fell silent as Crawford indicated by kissing him that such matters could be left for another time. "Why, Herr Crawford," laughed Schuldig in Crawford's mind. "You do not wish to plot?"

"Later," thought Crawford, and they put all thoughts of both plots and hunts from them.

When they returned late the next morning to the campsite, bearing with them the carcass of one of the native sheep, they found Farfarello dozing and Nagi perched on the very top of a spur of rock, a rifle across his knees, keeping watch.

"Crawford!" he cried, clambering down to the ground.

"How desolate I am, that no one cares I have returned too," said Schuldig, quietly lest the lad hear, and think he were serious.

"I am glad you have returned," smiled Crawford, "the sheep would have been awkward to carry by myself."

"I've always helped you move the bodies," grinned Schuldig. "Hello, Nagi."

"Hello," said the lad, pausing before them and regarding the sheep in interest. "How are we going to cook that?"

"In more manageable pieces, I think," said Crawford. "Farfarello!" he cried, "come and give Nagi a lesson on how best to dismember a corpse!"

Finding this suggestion to be amenable, Farfarello did not grumble overlong at being woken, and was soon cheerfully demonstrating to the lad how a carcass should be skinned and jointed. Soon the sheep had been reduced to more manageable sections, and chunks of meat had been cut up and put into a pot of water to boil.

"We'll be giving most of that to the _dov_ ," said Schuldig. "It surely will not be good by tomorrow."

"At least we will have a day's food from it," said Crawford. "And we and the animals will be rested, which is as important." He stretched out comfortably in a patch of shade, watching Nagi toss some meat to the _dov_ , who regarded the scraps in seeming bored indifference at first and then, with the swift movements native to them suddenly scurried in and each grabbed for the piece that seemed to them the most alluring. "Don't tease them, Nagi," he called.

"Poor little Nagi, a _dov's_ breakfast," grinned Schuldig. "That would be unfortunate."

Crawford laughed shortly as the lad went back to helping Farfarello chop up meat. Schuldig lay back against him, eyes closed, and shortly the pair of them dozed peacefully.

  
Schuldig rose first the next morning, tying back his hair and stretching. He put coffee grounds into the pot and filled it to the brim with water. Farfarello always, in his estimation, made the coffee too weak, and he was pleased that this morning he would have what he deemed to be a "proper" cup of coffee. Putting a pot of water on the fire as well, into which he added some of the native grain, he sat down to peruse the maps and charts furnished to them by their superiors. "How ridiculous it is, for us to depend on these," he thought, as displeased as ever by the large areas of blank paper. "These British cartographers have not been diligent in their tasks." At last he folded the maps up again, and stared disconsolately into the small fire, wishing he and Crawford were waking in a pleasant hotel where a delicious breakfast would be provided to them by the efforts of others. On that thought he rose and went back to the spot where Crawford lay, stirring him with one foot.

"Up, you slothful creature," he said, pleased beyond measure to be the one who had woken first.

Crawford woke swiftly, in his usual manner, moving from sleep to wakefulness without the dazed quality that Schuldig himself felt in the transition. "What is it?" asked Crawford.

"Coffee?" said Schuldig, indicating the pot. "I have made it specially as you like it."

"I somehow doubt that," grumbled Crawford, rising to his feet. "You have made it in the manner you claim to prefer, although you would never drink such swill in a restaurant."

"Don't be so delicate," Schuldig said, pouring cups for both of them. "The porridge is ready too. And it is only a little burnt."

Crawford sipped his coffee, grimacing, and spooned out some of the porridge for both of them, adding a good helping of the sugar Schuldig held out to him. He ate stoically, drinking another cup of the coffee to wash it down.

"Hey, Nagi, Farfarello!" cried Schuldig, "you are missing breakfast!"

"Be damned to your breakfast," muttered Farfarello, turning over and pulling his blanket over his head.

Nagi came over, yawning, and stirred the porridge suspiciously. As there was nothing else, however, he ate without complaint. Schuldig smiled with pleasure to see his culinary efforts being consumed by his friends.

"Perhaps I shall cook lunch and dinner as well," he said, smiling with even more pleasure as Nagi stilled and looked in desperate entreaty at Crawford. "I think I can remember some of the recipes we used in Egypt, although they will of necessity not be quite as pleasant when prepared with Martian ingredients."

"You are frightening Nagi," said Crawford in amusement.

"Nonsense! Nagi is one of us, and does not know the meaning of fear, is that not right, Nagi? And you wouldn't be such a baby as to be alarmed by my cooking, am I not correct?" cried Schuldig.

"Of course not," said Nagi in a sad little voice as if he were resigned to eating whatever Schuldig might desire to prepare. He looked most aggrieved as Schuldig burst out laughing. "Oh!" he ejaculated, "you are making fun of me!"

"Only a little," said Schuldig, grinning like an imp, "and I know I do not offend you, for we are friends."

"Don't tease him," said Crawford, and to Nagi, "you needn't fear, I will take my turn at cooking as I should."

"Good," said Nagi with dignity. "You are much better at it than Schuldig."

"I am wounded," cried Schuldig. "I am unappreciated, and will die forlorn!"

"And it'll be sooner than you think, if you don't let me sleep," came a voice from Farfarello's blankets.

"I'm glad to see we are all in such high spirits," said Crawford cheerfully. "Missions of exploration should be joyous occasions." His foresight allowed him to move safely before Schuldig flicked a spoonful of porridge at him.

  
* * *

  
_The uncharted Martian wastes, 1880, six weeks later_

  
Schuldig stood upon the tallest of the rock spurs, looking through the glass at the desolate red vista stretched out before him. The wind brought no relief, being scorching hot and flinging small grains of sand into his face. He stowed the glass away with care, and scratched at his beard in irritation. "Oh," he thought, "if only we had enough water to allow us to shave! Or if only I were Nagi's age! I will go quite mad." He sat upon a ledge for a brief rest, and then began to pick his way down with care to where the others awaited his return.

"There is a town to the north," he said, grabbing Nagi as the boy went past. "Your _hat_ , Nagi! It looks to be a large settlement, Crawford. Do you think it is the one your texts mention?"

"If my calculations are correct," muttered Crawford, looking at pages of careful notes, "I have every hope that it may be."

"Let us hope you are right," said Farfarello. "Poor Schuldig here cannot stand yet more months of travel without his curling papers."

"Just because you have never looked presentable in your life you should not think you can mock someone who is the very flower of manhood," said Schuldig. "There has been many a lady who has found her heart beating faster at the sight of me."

"Fear does that," agreed Farfarello mildly. "Well, Crawford?" he went on. "Where next?"

Crawford drew from his pocket his compass, consulting it and staring at his notes once more. "We will go past the town this night," he said. "We should have no more than another week's journey."

"Do we have enough food and water?" asked Schuldig. "Might we have to buy more from the natives?"

Crawford fell silent, his eyes unfocusing. "We have enough for the moment," he said at last. "It would not be safe to reveal ourselves to these natives. I can't say more at the present." He wiped his brow, continuing, "I believe we may find more at our destination."

"But you are not sure," said Schuldig into his mind.

"No, I am not," thought Crawford. "The settlements have wells, if needs be we must find a way to steal water as before." He smiled at Schuldig as the German supplied him with images of their foray into a Martian village some time previously, during which they had drawn up stolen water to fill their barrels once more. By the time dawn had begun to lighten the sky they had flown, their barrels and all other vessels filled. They had had to carry Nagi bodily away, for the lad was exhausted, having used his abilities to lower the barrels down into the well and then to raise them up filled with the precious liquid. Once the largest of their vessels had been filled the others had laboured to draw skin after skin up from the depths, so that every possible container might be filled, be it ever so small. "We can do that again," thought Crawford. "We shall not die of thirst, I assure you."

"Good," thought Schuldig, putting the concern from his mind. If Crawford said something would come to pass, then that was what would happen. He paused, all of a sudden suspicious. "Do you mean we will die on the spears of the natives instead?"

Crawford laughed at him. "No," he said aloud. "I don't see that. You never used to worry so much, Schuldig, you must no longer be a boy."

Schuldig scowled at him and clambered back onto his _dov_. "Let's find somewhere to rest till we must go past this town of yours," he said.

That night they crept past the town, ignoring the breathy sighs of their _dov_ , that felt in their great, reptilian hearts quite misused to be made carry their riders and pull the cart once the sun had gone down. Although all items had been secured on the cart, and those of metal muffled with cloth, an occasional clink or other noise issued from the travellers' belongings, resounding as it seemed loud as trumpets in the still night air. No words disturbed the quiet of the night, however, for all communication was relayed from mind to mind by Schuldig. At last they were safely past, no alarm having been raised, and were taking the path Crawford indicated to them. For days they travelled further into the wastes, moving both by night and at the hottest part of the day, for by so doing they hoped to avoid any interaction with the natives. Sometimes in the morning and evening they spied _ayit_ wheeling overhead, their _manoeuvres_ indicating that the beasts did not fly at their own whim, but by the command of a trained rider. Nagi's eyes always followed the flights avidly, his thoughts clear upon his boyish face even to those without the ability to read minds.

"You'd fall off and be squashed flat," said Farfarello, smiling so that his face seemed a horror.

"I wouldn't," said Nagi, who had long since learned to distinguish between the youthful Irishman's expressions. "I could drop sticks of dynamite on the Martians, Crawford."

"That would indeed be useful," said Crawford, his face betraying no humour. "We will have to catch one of the ugly beasts for you - but what if your _dov_ feels you prefer the _ayit_ to it? Would it not be distressed?"

"I would love you both," said Nagi consolingly to his _dov_ , leaning against it and patting its thick neck. He rushed away then to shake off an excess of youthful energy by ensuring that all they needed had been readied for the day.

"He hardly seems like the same boy we found in the orphanage," mused Schuldig, watching Nagi's busy activities. "He is so much more lively."

"I'm glad," said Crawford. "That place was killing him. We are much better for him, and he will repay our care yet, mark my words."

Schuldig snorted a quiet laugh, his eyes still on the lad. "He seems so young," he said. "Younger than you or I ever were." He paused, at last continuing, "you were right, Crawford, I do not feel myself to be a boy any longer. I cannot say I approve, I feel that having been shot has turned me into an old man."

"You are so decrepit that I have a bath-chair ready for you in the cart," said Crawford. "Do not be so silly, Schuldig. You are frustrated with our slow progress these last days, that is all."

"I've been with you six years," Schuldig said. "That's as long as I spent in the Schloß."

Crawford regarded him intently, saying simply, "I hope your time with me has been more pleasant than your time there." He took Schuldig's hand in his, continuing, "as for your advanced age, why you are the very flower of manhood, are you not? I am more than content." He grinned suddenly, saying, "You cannot think that poor little Nagi --"

"I merely say I am no longer sixteen," said Schuldig quickly, and with some attempt at dignity, ignoring Crawford's smile.

It was five days later that they breasted a ridge, and saw before them in the midday light a strange landscape rendered more uncanny by the harsh sunlight from directly overhead. The ground of the valley before them was littered with mounds and rounded heaps, as if giant moles had erected their spoil heaps upon the red surface of the planet. Here and there fragments of walls stood proud of the sand, their blocks huge and weathered by the incessant sand that the breeze carried about them. What could be seen of the stone showed it was of high quality, in the red and yellow colours native to the world. Some blocks bore the signs of carving and decorations, although these were so much weathered that the eye could not easily pick out the design. The queer vista stretched on and on, covering the whole valley floor, as far as the eye could see.

Crawford dismounted from his _dov_ , his face alight with pleasure and satisfaction. He stood surveying the valley floor, his gaze alighting on several of the mounds in turn. Taking from his pocket his sheaf of notes he quickly examined his calculations, nodding to himself as he did so. At last he turned to the others, seeing how Farfarello looked upon the scene with an incurious gaze, how Nagi peered at it in fascination, his gaze flickering here and there and coming always back to rest on Crawford's face, and how Schuldig sat silent as a statue upon his _dov_ his face beginning to show disgust.

"We have reached our goal," said Crawford. "We need to explore the site thoroughly, and then to examine what it is we might find here." He felt himself eager to begin, and could barely restrain his desire to take out the equipment brought with them for this very purpose. "Is this not everything you might have wished for?" he said in great good cheer to Schuldig, who merely sighed and swung down from his _dov_.

"It's like old times," Schuldig said glumly. "It is like the damned City of the Horizon of the Aten all over again."

"Well," said Crawford, smiling at the thought, "at least there are more than two of us to do the digging this time." He felt quite cheered by Schuldig's expression, going on, "this can be your attempt to recapture your lost youth. We have brought tools, and you can pretend to be the vigorous boy who proved such an annoyance to me before."

"Digging," said Schuldig flatly.

"And lots of it," said Crawford.

" _Verdammt_ ," muttered Schuldig in the tones of one who knows he has already lost.


	29. Chapter 29

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
Farfarello threw aside his shirt and wiped his face, feeling the heat of the sun increase minute by minute. There being little time to waster before the day became simply too hot to work, he picked up his shovel once more and went back to digging, ignoring the litany of curses emanating from behind him.

"Were these damned savages buried with nothing _useful?_ " asked Schuldig in fury, emerging from the crevice he had dug into one of the mounds. "Crawford! More damned pottery!" He climbed from the hole and brought his finds to the heap where such things were being noted by Nagi. "Categorise it as More Damned Pottery," he said, and leapt in resignation back down to the crevice to ensure that nothing of value had been overlooked.

"Are we digging in the right place?" asked Farfarello.

" _Ach_ , I do not know," grumbled Schuldig. "I am heartily sick of this world, Farfarello. I want to go back to civilisation."

"Well," said Farfarello, "think of how much worse we would have it if we didn't have Nagi to shift the bulk of the sand for us. Count your blessings, Schuldig, that's what I always say."

"That is _not_ what you always say," muttered Schuldig, ducking into the tomb once again and ignoring the laughter.

At last Farfarello's shovel struck rock, and he knew he had not overlooked anything lying around the tomb. Breathing heavily, he looked at the palms of his hands in some interest, noting that they were red and raw. "I must remember," he thought, "to not let them become infected." Gazing wistfully at his bloody hands, he considered that the scars from an infection would be interesting, but might perhaps hinder him in later times. "I'll let Crawford bandage them," he decided. "After I have worked a little longer."

When they stopped to rest and eat Farfarello submitted meekly to having his hands smeared with ointment and bandaged snugly. The four of them lay in the shade afforded them by one of the tents now unpacked from the cart and looked in silence out at the hot sand. Schuldig lay back on his blanket with a _whuff_ of exhaustion.

"Tell me we are in the right place," he groaned. "I cannot bear it if you say we are not, Crawford."

Crawford lifted the pottery they had found in the tombs so far broken into and made a neat drawing of it in his book. He then flicked though the pages of some books he had brought, comparing the pot in his hand to the drawings therein. At last he put both aside carefully.

"We are in the right place," he said. "I am sure of that - but these pots. They are later in time than we want, the experts say. The design is no more than perhaps one thousand years old, the books say." He ran his hands through his hair, continuing, "It is common on Earth for civilisations to build amid the ruins of the empires that preceded them. Should it be any different on Mars?"

"We are in the new town?" asked Farfarello in amusement.

"We are in the new town," confirmed Crawford, patting Schuldig's leg in consolation as that young man groaned in agony. Farfarello threw himself down beside the young German and was asleep almost at once.

"But it isn't new!" said Nagi. "It's very old, Crawford!"

"The newer town, then. Or at least newer graves built over the old town. Perhaps the site became sacred to them, although they may have forgotten the people that once lived here. I will check my calculations again, and we will find the right spot, I am sure of it. Schuldig, no one believes you are really dying."

"You should," said Schuldig. "All of you! Out of my tent! Let me rest in peace!" He could not stop himself from joining in the others' laughter, and crawled half-upright to lean against Crawford, peering over his friend's shoulder at the notebook full of small, neat writing. "It is worse than Latin," he muttered.

"When did you learn Latin?" said Crawford, his attention more firmly fixed on his notes than on Schuldig. "I thought they had trained you in more modern tongues."

"Oh, I must have studied it at some point," said Schuldig idly, wiping the look of confusion from his face. "The mathematics I studied, however, were of a more practical nature than this esoteric stuff. A man knows where he is with angles and trajectories."

"Theorems are Greek, Schuldig," murmured Crawford. "The learning of the ancients is quite practical, I have always found."

The young man sighed in annoyance, and fixed his eyes upon Nagi who had begun to doze. "If you are not getting out of the tent," he said, "better yourself by practising your reading. Come and show me how you have improved."

"I don't have my book," said Nagi sleepily.

"Read Crawford's book on pottery. Perhaps we shall find a salacious passage in it."

"They're all in Latin," said Crawford, scribbling industriously in his notebook.

"He's spying on us," whispered Schuldig theatrically. "Quick, distract him with this description of zoomorphic-handled libation jars. _Gott_ , Crawford, how you can stand the excitement of these studies I do not know." He grinned as Nagi struggled through the dry prose, fighting with the unfamiliar words. Slowly, as the heat increased and Nagi's voice became quieter and quieter both Schuldig and he fell into sleep, leaving Crawford working alone until he too was overcome by tiredness and warmth.

Finally, Crawford having checked his notes time and again, and having studied the constellations scholars considered pertinent to the study of the religion of the ancient Martians, he decreed they should move further down the valley and start anew. With no few complaints and grumbles the others packed up the tents and the cart and moved all that they had to the spot Crawford was now sure would yield up its mysteries to them. In the lessening heat of the evening he made them all stand in a line and observe the layout of the city from their new vantage point.

"It is still a dead place," muttered Schuldig.

"What is this, would you say?" said Crawford showing them a sketch he had made long ago, in the tomb of a king no one now would ever find again.

"People," said Nagi.

"A boat," shrugged Farfarello.

Schuldig heaved a sigh, and looked at the paper. "The barque of the sun," he said in a bored voice. "Collecting passengers for its journey."

"And out there?" said Crawford, waving a hand towards the ruins.

"What?" said Schuldig in annoyance.

"Do you not see it?" smiled Crawford. "Concentrate, my friend."

Schuldig squinted at the city, then slipped quietly into Crawford's mind, seeking information. The long lines marked out by the shadows cast in the declining sunlight leapt suddenly clear in his mind, as black as if they were drawn on paper with India ink. "It's a quay," he said slowly. "Crawford! Its a quay! That's a _canal!_ "

"You'd have seen it even if you hadn't read my mind," said Crawford generously. "Look, here is the plan compiled from the Egyptian paintings. See how the lines match up?"

"It's real," Schuldig said in wonder. "You weren't just telling us fantasies."

Crawford laughed at him. "Do you see it, Nagi? Farfarello?"

"It's dried up," said Nagi in a childish voice. "I couldn't see it when the sun was higher, but I see it now."

"Let us be practical," said Farfarello. "What chance is there that water might be found in this dead canal?"

"You are a sensible man," said Crawford approvingly. "Who knows when the canal silted up, whether it was before the city was ruined or thereafter? There may yet be water deep underneath, too far down to make it practicable for the natives to continue living here, or there may be none. There is only one way to find out."

"No more digging," said Schuldig. "Not tonight."

"Digging?" said Crawford innocently. "I had something different in mind. Nagi, see how much damage you can do."

An eager expression crossed the lad's face, for he found it intoxicating to allow himself free rein at times, and under the tutelage of Crawford and the others felt himself quite free to, as he put it, break things. He stared at the line of the ancient canal, his eyes narrowed with effort, his little form stiff and shaking. Nothing happened, but none of them moved, waiting patiently. All at once the sand burst up from the canal in a great plume, falling back in an orderly fashion on the opposite side in a great heap. Nagi gasped for air and was caught by Farfarello as he staggered a step to the side. "Heavy," he said weakly. Crawford tousled his hair and jogged over to the canal, noting how the section closest to their camp had had a vast part of the sand choking it thrown out. He admired the smooth sides, running a hand along the stone and marvelling that he could not feel a single join, before letting himself down into the canal bed. The stone there was still obscured by sand, but with a little effort Crawford found he could clear a small section. The sand was as dry as bone to his disappointment, but the elegant curve of the sides in to the base was worth his exertions, he thought, smiling to himself at the knowledge of what the others would say to such a sentiment. He climbed out again, and found the others strolling towards him.

"Well, there is no water in the section here," he said, "but that does not mean we cannot find water in it somewhere. All the studies that I have read suggest that the great canals are fed both by the seasonal melting of the ice caps and by wells tapping down deep into the ground to reach hidden reservoirs. No doubt this canal is similar in its design. And there must be many other wells to have sustained a city of this size. Clearing them would be less arduous for you, Nagi." He looked about him with deepening satisfaction, nodding as the shadows lengthened and what had been clear became once more a jumble of lines and misshapen heaps of sand. "We are, most assuredly, in the correct place," he said. "We can begin our searches anew in the morning. But tonight, we may permit ourselves a moderate celebration. Let us open one of the bottles of wine with our meal, gentlemen. Nagi, you may have some chocolate."

"Can't I have wine too?" asked Nagi, his eyes shining.

Crawford began to shake his head, then relented. "You may have a sip of mine," he said indulgently. "But that's enough for a boy."

"May I have some of yours?" whispered Nagi to Schuldig, who winked and nodded.

"Let him rebel against you a little in things that do not matter," thought Schuldig. "If we're all to be free, then he should be too."

"If he is sick in the morning, it will not be I who cleans him up," thought Crawford, pretending he had not heard the interchange between Schuldig and the lad.

"He won't be sick, I'll give him hardly any," thought Schuldig, then, aloud. "Run and light the fire, Nagi! I'll give you a cookery lesson."

Nagi looked at him in horror, then ran off obediently as Schuldig laughed. His older friends walked back more sedately in a manner befitting, as Farfarello said, their mature years.

"Do you still yearn to be a boy such as he?" thought Crawford as they watched Nagi fling himself down at their camp and take out a box of matches.

"Not at all," thought Schuldig. "Who would willingly endure one's arms and legs seeming too awkward for one a second time? It is altogether better to be a man than a boy. Really, Crawford, I do not know where you get such ideas."

"Enough of your private intercourse," said Farfarello, as they came up to the camp. "Be polite and speak for us all to hear. You will make Nagi and I quite suspicious!"

"You see, Crawford?" said Schuldig idly, "I told you he would know we were speculating on his particular friendships with the _dov_."

"Which _dov_?" asked Nagi, who regarded his mount as a particular favourite amongst the great beasts, and thus to be tended only by him. "Why are you all laughing at me?"

The days progressed better thereafter, Nagi clearing away the great bulk of the sand about whichever structure Crawford had determined they should examine, and the others then bending to the work of clearing what remained with shovels. The items they discovered Crawford declared to be far older than those they had found before, which information made them all the more eager to work hard. It was with some amusement that Schuldig realised he was impatient with the building they were so painstakingly revealing to the world once more, for it had become apparent to him that it was only a palace of some sort. "Only a palace," he chuckled to himself. "I have caught Crawford's lust for antiquities, it is clear. Well, well," he continued, bending and carefully freeing a dagger from the sand. "The worldly riches are slow in coming, though the wealth of learning here for wise men is indeed great." He examined the fine working on the bronze blade, and put it aside for Crawford to look at later. A moment thereafter his mood lifted considerably as he fell to his knees the better to peer into the dark hole that had opened up under his shovel.

"Come here!" he cried, and the others converged upon him. "A light, give me a light. Nagi, what can you feel down there?"

"It's an open space," Nagi said, concentrating hard. "Perhaps it's big enough for me to stand up in!"

"You can go down after I've made sure it's safe," said Schuldig. "Can you make the hole bigger without damaging anything within?"

"That's easy," said Nagi scornfully, doing just that.

Schuldig caught up a candle from Crawford, and dropped down. Lighting his candle he peered around the cramped space, noting that dark areas half-choked with sand were visible in the dim light. To his disgust nothing of value was in sight. "But who knows what may be in those other rooms?" he thought, and called for the others to pull him out.

"It's a vestibule of some kind," he said, "there are other rooms or corridors leading from it. We've broken down properly into this building." He noted how Crawford hid the excitement in his face, and looked with fondness on his friend, stilling all of a sudden as something flashed at the edge of his vision. "What?" he muttered, turning his head casually and trying to spot it again.

"What is it?" asked Crawford.

"Maybe nothing," said Schuldig. "Maybe a watcher - with a glass, Crawford."

"Are you certain?"

"Where?" asked Farfarello, not betraying any excitement in his stance, although his face lit up at the thought of a hunt and a fight.

"The other side of the valley, where we were at first," said Schuldig, a happy smile upon his face as if he were making some pleasantry. "Did we leave anything there that could catch the sun?"

"No," said Nagi, "I was most careful and searched our campsite over and over to make sure we had left nothing behind."

"Well," said Crawford, picking up the dagger Schuldig had found and pointing at its extravagent decoration. The others leant close in to look at it, and he continued, "Schuldig, you work your way around behind our visitor, and take him - or them - alive if you can. Bear in mind there may be several of them, perhaps some of our military friends from the New London garrison. Farfarello, you can keep watch here, while making a pot of coffee. Nagi, you and I will make ourselves very obvious in examining the artefacts we have found so far. But first, let us get Schuldig out of sight so that he might begin his hunt. Nagi, Farfarello, go and be active about our camp. It's getting hot and we would be stopping soon anyway." The two of them obediently walked away, Nagi forcing himself not to look about him wildly, although his unease was not obvious, Crawford decided. He smiled at Schuldig. "You'll need a certain amount of time to be reasonably out of sight," he said. "Be affectionate."

"Ah," said Schuldig smiling cheerfully, and then putting a hand on the back of Crawford's neck to draw him down into a kiss. "And how long shall you stay out of sight and presumably occupied?" he thought. "Not so long as to be completely ridiculous," thought Crawford, "but our visitor will think you a compelling companion." Schuldig drew back, a joyful smile on his face, and held out a hand for Crawford to take. "Let's go and hide," he laughed, and led Crawford back to their tent, ducking inside and closing the flap. "Now," he muttered, dropping Crawford's hand and seizing up his rifle and a canteen of water, "let's see who you are, my nosy friend."

"Schuldig," said Crawford, sitting upon their blankets and taking out his notebook. "Don't get killed."

"It will take more than some _englische_ soldiers to do for me," said Schuldig, and carefully opened the back of the tent and slipped out.

Using his uncanny speed he soon had secreted himself amidst the rocks of the valley's side, and began to work his way down away from the camp. When he judged he had travelled far enough, he risked swift movement away from the sheltering rocks, and moved swiftly from low wall to sandy mound and so on across the valley floor until he had reached the opposite side. Sitting momentarily behind a rock, he took a mouthful of warm water, drinking it as slowly as if it were the finest liqueur. Refreshed, he began his careful and stealthy journey to where he had seen the sunlight reflecting from something. Hearing the slightest of noises he paused, moving even more carefully and coming all at once on a little campsite, far less comfortable than his own. The man whose site it was had no tent, merely blankets neatly folded and laid by ready against the night. Schuldig noted the small amount of belongings, and the solitary _dov_ lying quietly in the heat of the sun. Then he crept on, circling round behind the spot he had marked as being an excellent vantage point over the valley. There was a man there, lying full-length, his eyeglass trained on the other side and their camp. Schuldig stepped up silently, and eschewing humour and his usual desire to impress, brought his rifle butt crashing down on the man's head. The observer went limp, and Schuldig stirred him with an ungentle foot.

"Let's get you back to Crawford," he muttered, bending to bind the man's hands with his own belt. "Who are you, and why are you spying on us? No matter, you'll talk soon enough." He slung the man over his shoulder and carried him back to the bare little campsite, throwing him over the shoulder of the surprised _dov_ , which heaved itself up in alarm. "You can bear us both," said Schuldig, clipping the reins to its muzzle and tapping its leg. The beast settled at once, comforted by the familiar command, and allowed him to mount. Schuldig rode back across the valley, waving to his friends. His prisoner groaned and swore, but Schuldig ignored him until they were surrounded by the others.

"Here he is," said Schuldig. "He's alone. He was camped up there - he's been _watching_ us." He pulled the prisoner down and forced him to stand, putting a hand under his chin and pushing his head up so he could not but look them in the eye. The man winced, then grinned, his teeth very white in his brown face. "Oh, you won't be smiling soon," said Schuldig flatly. "I'd advise you to be honest with us. Farfarello here is very persuasive when faced with liars."

Farfarello looked as if he might burst with pleasure as he pulled out a knife. The man laughed - a warm, cheerful sound as if he were not standing bound amongst violent men. He nodded politely to Crawford, who stood watching him silently and in some confusion, as if he felt he should know this man but could not place his face.

"Hello, Bradley," said the man. "It's been a while."

"I don't know you," said Crawford coldly.

"That's not so. You know me perfectly well, we were best friends, were we not? Did you ever get to fight the Yankees?" the man said, his smile widening as Farfarello looked at him in surprise and paused, clearly waiting for Crawford to instruct him.

"You're dead," said Crawford slowly. "They killed you, they told me they killed you."

"Here I am," the man said. "Not so dead, as you can see. Come now, call off your dogs, untie me, Bradley."

"Who do you think you are, speaking to him so familiarly?" said Schuldig in anger.

The man smiled sidelong at him, a strangely well-known expression on his face. "You must be Schuldig. That wasn't the politest of greetings you gave me, and now you question _my_ manners?" He nodded at Crawford who was watching him in fascination. "Don't you see the resemblance, Schuldig?" He suddenly laughed outright in honest, manly pleasure.

"I'm his brother."


	30. Chapter 30

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
"His brother?" said Schuldig coldly. "Liar. Get to work, Farfarello."

Farfarello stepped forward, pleasure evident in his face, spinning the knife in his fingers. Crawford held up a hand to stop him.

"Wait. I _do_ know this man." He paused, looking intently into the face of the man before him. "You _are_ he," he said finally. "All these years, Micah, I have believed you dead. Farfarello, put away your knife."

The man he had addressed as Micah looked about him in triumph at the others and back to Crawford. "Well," he said, "I would not have thought you would be so tall. You should introduce me to your team, Bradley. Red hair, German, insolent - I've already met Schuldig. Farfarello seems more tractable. And this is the boy I was told of."

Schuldig stepped forward angrily, and stopped as Crawford held up a hand. "Micah," said Crawford. "How is it that you are alive? And why are you here?"

"I'll gladly tell you," said Micah. "Let's talk, it has been far too long." He made to take Crawford's arm, to guide him away from the others, and both Schuldig and Farfarello seized him.

"Touch him again and you'll lose the hand," said Schuldig, his voice cold.

"They're diligent, these dogs of yours," said Micah, and shook himself free. "Take your hands from me, I mean him no harm."

"It's all right," said Crawford, and as Schuldig opened his mouth to protest, continued, "It is all right, Schuldig. Don't you think I would know if it were not?" Schuldig backed down, his face sullen. "Very well, Micah," said Crawford. "Let us speak." He gestured for the man to walk aside with him, leaving the others behind.

"Well?" said Farfarello, watching them.

"Well, what?" said Schuldig, glaring at Crawford and Micah as if he would strike them both dead with no more than the force of his gaze.

"Is he Crawford's brother?" said Farfarello with exaggerated patience. "Tell me."

"I don't know," muttered Schuldig, glaring at the ground. "I cannot read his mind."

"Cannot or will not?" said Farfarello. "We have no time for games now, Schuldig."

"I'm not playing," said Schuldig. "I cannot read his mind."

"Why?" asked Nagi, looking between them in confusion.

Schuldig looked at Farfarello meaningfully. "Either this fellow has a stronger will than most men, or he has been trained."

"Trained?" said Farfarello. "But he looks to be the same age as Crawford - would he not remember him from the Schloß?"

"One might think so," said Schuldig, and to Nagi, "it is of no import, Nagi. Crawford will tell us what to do."

Standing apart, Crawford and Micah looked at one another in frank curiosity. Micah shook his head, smiling.

"You look well. It's hard to believe I've caught up with you at last."

"Caught up with us some days ago, and observing us since then, if Schuldig is correct," said Crawford. "Be forthcoming, Micah."

"Was I to ride in here, hallooing and expecting a warm welcome?" asked Micah, raising an eyebrow. "I think I would have been shot on sight, and you might have mourned me later. I was merely waiting for the right moment." He rubbed at his head, ruefully. "Could he not have simply taken me prisoner without bludgeoning me into unconsciousness?"

"Schuldig is efficient," said Crawford. "How did you know we were here?"

"Bradley," said Micah with a smile, "how _should_ I know? I was told, of course. I have been sent to aid you in any way I might. There were concerns that you and your men would need help, being so isolated on this distant world."

"Concerns," repeated Crawford.

"I do not mean in any way to suggest you would be incapable of dealing with the situations in which you find yourself," said Micah hurriedly. "Like you I am a man set under authority. They said "Go", and I went. Our friends in Germany have sent me, who else?"

"You are alive and working for the same masters as I," said Crawford with a sigh, caught between the wonder of having his childhood friend suddenly restored to him, and the realisation that that friend stood with those from whom he had vowed to seize his freedom. "How can that be, Micah? I saw your body."

"You saw me unconscious," said Micah. "Did they let you touch me?"

"No," admitted Crawford, looking aside, as if at an old and painful memory. "I was sure they'd killed you -- I remember them beating you that day."

"I remember it perhaps better than you," said Micah dryly. He looked sombrely at Crawford. "I remember it as a test they had set you, one you refused. What did they do to you, after?"

"It doesn't matter," said Crawford. He sighed, and took off his spectacles, pinching the bridge of his nose. "First they told me I should have beaten you as they ordered, that perhaps you would have survived if I hadn't forced grown men to do it instead. Then they -- well, as I say, it doesn't matter."

"It was a harsh place," said Micah, "but we survived. They told me _you_ were dead. I wondered why they didn't put me back in the Schloß, but of course I wouldn't have been such a good object lesson for you if I had turned up alive." He sat on a low wall and looked out over the city. "Such a desolate place for us to meet in after so long."

"They kill the students who do not meet their requirements," said Crawford. "Why did they spare you?"

"They had theories," said Micah, looking grim. "Many, many theories on whether the abilities the favoured students possess came from inheritance or chance. They wanted to see if such abilities could be awoken in those that did not seem to possess them, and thought blood relatives an excellent place to start."

"I said you were my brother to save your life when we were taken," said Crawford. "Did they not discover --"

"They spoke a great deal of shared physical features," interrupted Micah firmly. "They were at least reasonably convinced of our relationship. Are you ashamed of the thought of my dark skin?"

"No," said Crawford, "such prejudices are both irrational and wasteful." He sighed again, saying, "I am not a child, Micah, I won't say it might not be so. I'd have thought my father a devoted husband to my mother, however."

"Well," said Micah in tones that indicated he did not wish to cause further pain. "We should perhaps not discuss that further."

Crawford drew a breath and put his spectacles on once more, seeming to draw strength from the act. "What did they do to you?" he asked.

"What did they do to _you?_ " countered Micah. "The training was not pleasant, as we both know. Cruelty was often thought an effective way of awakening any abilities, to protect oneself, you understand." He looked pensive, saying, "I suppose they had their reasons, some evidence of it. They were not all cruel simply for the sake of it."

"No, of course," said Crawford, feeling he should reveal none of his private thoughts on such matters. "They needed to mould us into the men required for our people's activities. That the end justifies the means is one of the earliest of the lessons. But they let you live on when their experiment had failed? That's not the norm."

Micah looked about him, as if afraid the others had crept close while they spoke. He beckoned Crawford nearer, saying with a little grin, "Failed, Bradley? Look." He held out his hand in a tight fist, slowly relaxing it to reveal the open palm. A tiny flame danced in thin air. Crawford's eyes widened in astonishment.

"You can make fire," breathed Crawford. "There was one other in the Schloß that could do it."

"You see," said Micah, "we're brothers." He frowned. "Or perhaps we are cousins, if you prefer that, but we are related. It's nowhere near as strong as your ability, but it was enough to let me live. I proved their theories, you see." He gave a cold laugh. "I also managed to blind the chief of my tormentors. Even a small flame can do that, if one gets close enough." He and Crawford shared a moment's gleeful pleasure, as if they were small boys speaking of some harmless fun. Micah blew at the flame and it vanished. "I have never had to worry about matches getting wet," he said, "but it is not as impressive as the things I was told of the students in the Schloß."

"Why did they think I needed help?" asked Crawford, suddenly offended that any man should think that of him, and not pausing to consider that he did not care any more for the opinion of his superiors. "Have I not carried out every task given me with diligence and swift success?"

"I cannot say. I was told merely to come, so I came. Perhaps they are old women who fret about favoured children once their darlings are out of sight. Perhaps someone had a prophetic dream of a great curse that would come about once you opened the right ruin out here. Setting a demon free would not be in your plans, I suspect?"

"Demons," scoffed Crawford. "The only thing Mars needs fear is what we'll do when we control it." They both laughed, and he paused, seeing in the face of the man before him the merry boy he remembered, and thought upon their last day as free children. "It's so good to see you, Micah," he said, greatly moved, reaching out to clasp Micah's hand in his. This was his friend, he thought. Surely he would wish to be free, even as Crawford and the others wished. "Come, you must speak with the others."

"Your mind reader looks like he's eaten something bad," murmured Micah, holding tight to Crawford's hand and nodding at Schuldig who indeed was looking at them with a sour expression upon his face.

"He'll be polite," promised Crawford, and pulled Micah after him. "I can't trust him," he thought, the walls his training had taught him to construct tight about his mind, "not yet. Not yet."

  
* * * * *

  
As Crawford had decreed they would rest for the remainder of the day, Farfarello lit the fire, piling branches of the native thorn bush upon it, and soon he had water boiling to make coffee. Schuldig leaned across him with an annoyed glance and added more coffee to the pot than Farfarello liked, but he forbore to argue, listening instead with careful attention to Micah who, having first repeated to them all his words to Crawford was seated beside the man he claimed as a brother, talking with great animation of his travels over the past years.

"They were most eager to use me to the greatest advantage," he said, "and have sent me to places where a white face would attract undue attention. I spent a year in India acting as a loyal Eurasian lackey to a high-ranked military gentleman." He began to laugh, continuing, "I look nothing like an Indian, of course, but it was not Indians I had to fool. My dear employer was most sympathetic when I explained my features as stemming from an Irish ancestor. Your pardon, Farfarello, of course."

Schuldig laughed but stopped quickly, as if surprised at himself. Farfarello merely grunted and poured a full cup of coffee for Micah, handing it over silently, but smiling when the man paused and coughed upon tasting it. Crawford searched among their supplies and handed over the sugar with a wry smile.

"And where did they find you?" said Micah to Nagi, sipping more cautiously at his coffee. "I was most impressed to see what you could do. For it was you that moved the sand for your friends here, was it not?"

"Yes," said Nagi shyly, ducking his head and looking as if he wished to retreat behind Crawford, beside whom he sat. He peered up through his hair at Micah's encouraging expression. "I can move things. I'm from Japan, Crawford found me there."

"Japan?" said Micah cheerfully. "I have never been there. Are all the boys as clever as you, Nagi?" As Nagi blushed, Micah went on mildly, "But should you not say rather, "Mr Crawford"?"

"I don't mind," said Crawford, as Nagi's face fell. "I have never told him to address me other than as he does. It's all right, Nagi."

"I didn't mean to upset the lad," said Micah quietly, "it is your own business, after all. But would it not be better for him to learn respect? When he goes to Schloß Rosenkreuz he'll pay dearly if he thinks he can address his elders so familiarly." He looked about him at the silent faces of the others. "What is it?"

"We don't have to worry about that at the moment," said Crawford, "we are far from Germany here."

"You shouldn't have brought him with you," said Micah. "Was there no one in Britain to whom you could have entrusted the lad? You might even have delayed your journey in order to take him to Germany yourself - you would have most assuredly have been forgiven the delay, for the lad is a fine asset." He smiled at Nagi again, saying, "Don't be so modest and shy, lad. Don't you want to start your proper training?"

Nagi looked at Crawford and then at the others, before fixing his gaze firmly on his own feet. "I don't know," he muttered.

Micah held out his cup for more coffee. "It would be good for him," he said quietly. "But he's young yet, no doubt there will be no outcry over you keeping him to yourself." He spooned in the sugar and tasted the coffee. "My thanks. I grow used to this poison!"

Schuldig stirred the pot of food, a mix of the native grains and dried meat, which he had improved, as he thought, with the addition of some raisins and a quantity of the native spices. He had paid his closest attention to Micah's earlier words, and was most irritated that he could find no falsehoods in anything that the man had said. "Perhaps," he thought, "I should be pleasant with him. I am sure Crawford would like that." Accordingly, he made sure that his face was clear of anger and frustration, and smiled openly when Micah made pleasantries. Schuldig felt vindicated in this approach when Crawford seemed happier, and was moved to give their guest a generous portion of the food when he deemed it ready. He was pleased with Micah's thanks, and felt that the question that had been pressing itself urgently upon him since he had earlier heard Micah's story could be asked the moment the opportunity presented itself. Before he could ask it, however, Micah turned to Crawford, saying, "I've been travelling as lightly as I may, to make speed. I've had cold nights on my journey, having no tent! Might I share yours, Bradley?"

Before he had even thought, Schuldig found himself suffused with annoyance once more at Micah's familiar form of address to Crawford, as well as fury that anyone should think to impose himself upon what was, in Schuldig's estimation, as much his habitation as Crawford's. "You needn't think you're evicting me!" he snapped. "There's no room, but I'm sure we can spare you an extra blanket."

Micah looked at him in polite disbelief, as if he could not understand Schuldig's outburst. "Schuldig!" said Crawford. "There is no need for rudeness." Schuldig settled back in his seat, stung, but grinned broadly as Crawford went on, apologetically, "But I'm afraid he is correct, Micah. My tent is full of the fruits of our labours, which it is my habit to examine and sketch. I am become an _amateur_ antiquarian, you see."

"There's room in our tent," said Farfarello in a voice as quietly mild as that he had used when first he joined Crawford and Schuldig. "I'm often out of it, if I can't sleep, and Nagi doesn't take up much space."

"Thank you," said Micah. "I won't disturb either of you."

For the rest of the evening they spoke of inconsequentialities, with Schuldig contributing little to the conversation, and Nagi less. Farfarello looked strained to carry so much of the burden of conviviality, but Schuldig did not step in to relieve him, though he was so much more at ease in such situations. It seemed to him that the best thing to do was be quiet and deferential, insofar as he could, and let both Micah and Crawford forget his previous outburst. The question that had occurred to him would do till another day, he thought. There was no point in asking while Micah might feel obliged by pride to refuse an answer. When the fire had burned down, and all were sleepy he rose silently, nodding at the others and went to the tent he shared with Crawford, where he sat, waiting. It was not long before Crawford followed, letting down the flap of the tent and casting himself upon the blankets wearily.

"I want to talk with you," Schuldig whispered. "Very quietly."

"What is it?" asked Crawford, turning to look at him.

Schuldig lay beside him, and touched his brow with a slender and dirty finger. " _Very_ quietly," he said, and slid his mind into Crawford's as his friend kept down the walls he could erect as defences. "What are we going to do?" thought Schuldig. "I'll kill him for you, if you like."

Crawford frowned. "No," he thought. "It would be much better if he were to go with a good report of us, and let us have the time to return to Earth and examine our resources. If he simply vanishes here, who knows what steps might be taken when he does not return? We need more information."

"The Martians could have killed him," thought Schuldig. "But you are right, we need more information before we do anything."

"Do _nothing_ ," said Crawford aloud, squeezing Schuldig's hand to emphasise his words.

"Of course," thought Schuldig obediently. Some of Crawford's frown eased at that, and he was glad to oblige his friend.

"Perhaps," thought Crawford after a moment, "we might bring him to our way of thought. He cannot love our masters overmuch, Schuldig. They used him as badly as they used us. He will want to be free, if only we can show him it is possible - any man would. I am not such a fool as to simply embrace him as a returned friend, but if any of the boy I knew yet lives on in the man --" he trailed off.

"Does _your_ boyhood self live on in you?" asked Schuldig, who felt at once regretful of his question as Crawford looked rueful and sad. "Well," Schuldig went on, "I am sure that if anyone can achieve his aims, it is you. But it is late, we should sleep." He slipped his arms about Crawford and with the ease of long familiarity they fitted themselves together comfortably, falling swiftly into sleep as undisturbed as if they lay in a fine bed in a renowned hotel rather than on rough blankets over sand on a world far distant from that of their birth.


	31. Chapter 31

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
Crawford untangled himself from Schuldig's limbs and rose, stretching and yawning. He cast a critical gaze upon the goods that had been strewn about the tent, some of which he had drawn in careful detail for his own notes. "Such untidiness," he thought in annoyance. "I must have Schuldig neaten it all later." He looked down upon his sleeping friend, and, kneeling beside him, roused him gently. "Schuldig," he said, noting how the young man slumbered deeply, no longer springing awake at the first touch of a hand. It had been some years since he had done so, Crawford realised. "I am glad he trusts me so," thought Crawford, and shook Schuldig once more. "Wake up, sluggard!"

"Hello," said Schuldig sleepily, opening his eyes and peering blearily at Crawford. "Come back to bed."

"No, no," smiled Crawford, "it is time you were up, Schuldig." And, as sleepy thoughts crept into his mind, telling him he was tired and should lie down again, he laughed and pulled Schuldig half upright.

"I'm up, I'm up," murmured Schuldig, leaning against him for a moment and then straightening with a sigh. "What are we going to do?"

"What we came to do," said Crawford, putting a finger across his lips and miming that Schuldig should be quiet. "I have thought of something," he continued, in thought only.

Schuldig looked at him in bland innocence for an instant, then shrugged, and forewent the pretence that he had not been aware of the thought. "Well, what?" he thought.

"Nagi," thought Crawford. "When Micah goes, can you make him forget Nagi? Or make Nagi seem less useful?"

Schuldig nodded. "If I can work on him over time. If he doesn't wall off his mind continually as he has been doing. He does not trust us overmuch, Crawford." He smiled wolfishly, continuing, "But it is very wearing to keep up such defences if one is not a mind reader. He'll slip, and I'll have him."

"Good," said Crawford aloud. "Let's go and see what horrors Farfarello has prepared for breakfast."

"We should have had Nagi taught to cook," muttered Schuldig. "He can't be any worse than the three of us."

Outside, Farfarello stood by their little fire, an expression of distaste upon his scarred face as he stirred the pot of grain porridge. Nagi was scratching the neck of his _dov_ , speaking to it in his own tongue. Micah stood between them, yawning.

"Good morning!" said Micah, and winced. "Oh!" he ejaculated, "I am so very stiff! I must be getting old."

"We aren't so old yet that we can't handle a little stiffness in the morning," smiled Crawford.

"Shake it from yourselves, gentlemen," said Schuldig, "for you will need all your fortitude to consume Farfarello's porridge." He rubbed his hands briskly together and accepted a bowl of that substance with comic anticipation. "Is it thick grain? Is it wet sand? Only Farfarello can tell!"

"Have some more if you like it so much," said Farfarello, ladling in more before Schuldig could stop him. "Nagi! Stop playing with the _dov_ and eat something."

After they had eaten as much as they could either desire or stomach, they turned to discussing the needs of the day. Within a short space of time they had decided to further investigate the passages found by Schuldig on the previous day, and were soon clustered around the building he had been digging in before he had gone to hunt Micah. Schuldig dropped into the space once more, noting how the passages were choked with sand. "Nothing has crept down here in the night!" he called. "Down you come, Nagi!" Nagi landed on his hands and knees beside him, looking about him with an eager expression that became one of disgust as he saw only sand and no treasures. "You are here to work," said Schuldig in mock severity. "Pick a tunnel, young man."

"That one," said Nagi, indicating the one directly opposite him. "Stand clear up there!"

"Cheeky," murmured Schuldig in approval as Nagi frowned at the sand and it began to funnel itself into the air, streaming to either side of them and up onto the surface. "Don't overtire yourself," warned Schuldig, suddenly picturing Nagi growing faint from exhaustion and both of them being buried under the sand as it fell back.

"I am perfectly awake," said Nagi in a tone resembling that of a duchess receiving advice from her housemaid.

Schuldig turned his laugh into a cough and grinned unrepentantly at Nagi's annoyed little face. The sand streamed out even faster, and Schuldig saw that the lad was trying to impress him. Accordingly, he fixed a look of deep reverence upon his face and grinned in an even broader fashion as Nagi looked irritated at such insincerity. At last the movement of the sand slowed and stopped, and Nagi sat back upon his heels, wiping his perspiring face. "Oof!" he said. "It's hot work. Let me rest for a little."

"There's probably an awful lot more sand to clear," said Schuldig. "But you've done very well so far. It looks as if you've cleared this whole passage. Hey!" He grabbed at Nagi as the lad scurried past him. "Not so fast! You aren't going anywhere we haven't said you could. I thought you wanted a rest?"

"Oh, I'm much less tired now," said Nagi, peering down the passage. "Please, Schuldig, can't I be the first to see something just once?"

"Crawford will kill me," muttered Schuldig, and handed the unlit candle to Nagi while he searched for his matches. Lighting the candle, he took Nagi's other hand firmly in his own. "I'm not letting you go alone," he said as the lad tried to tug free. "Come on, let's explore." Hand-in-hand the two of them crept down the dark passageway, noting the various doors and openings that led from it. "A labyrinth," thought Schuldig, for a brief moment unnerved and wishing not to break the silence. "Perhaps a minotaur lives within."

"What's a minotaur?" asked Nagi.

"It doesn't matter," said Schuldig aloud, smiling at his own childishness. "Look, that room is empty. Wicked boy, have you been clearing out the treasure with the sand?" He laughed as Nagi pulled him into the room, holding up the candle to reveal painted figures upon the walls. All around them the ancient natives carried out the tasks necessary to their daily lives, the paint as bright and colourful as it had been when the long dead artists had first put their brushes to the walls.

"Oh!" cried Nagi, turning around and around, his candle held high.

"Not so bad, I suppose," said Schuldig, although he too was moved by the vibrant pictures. "Look, there's your _dov_."

"It's wonderful," breathed Nagi, his eyes wide.

"They're just paintings," said Schuldig. "Crawford will be happy, but he'd be happier if we found him strange artefacts." He nodded toward the door opposite them. "Let's see if that opens."

"It'll open for me," said Nagi, the door moving protestingly even as he spoke. Beyond there lay a passage that was not as thickly choked with sand as the one Nagi had previously cleared. Before Schuldig could take his hand once more, Nagi had darted down it. Cursing, Schuldig followed, leaping down the short flight of stairs that lay some yards down the corridor.

"Don't run ahead!" he snapped, seizing Nagi's arm and jerking him half off his feet.

"I just wanted to see," muttered Nagi. "No one ever lets me do anything."

"You're just a boy," said Schuldig. "And it's not true, anyway. We always include you."

"You were just a boy when Crawford first had you on his team," said Nagi sullenly. "Did he nursemaid you?"'

Schuldig raised an eyebrow, saying, "I was older than you. At least I think so. And I was older in ways other than age, Nagi." He patted the lad's shoulder, continuing, "Don't be in such a hurry to leave your boyhood behind. You'll have the responsibilities of a man soon enough." He looked about the room into which the stairs had led, saying "Let's see if there's anything of interest here." The two of them searched about, Nagi moving the sand from each spot as they needed. The walls were painted a bright yellow, but there were no figures depicted on them. At last Schuldig gave up in disgust, having found only some broken pottery and what he thought to be a number of hairpins. "Useless," he muttered. "Why is there no door leading from here? We should go back to the first passage and take another entrance."

"Come on, quick," said Nagi, ready to dash back up the stairs.

"Wait a moment," said Schuldig. "We're all alone here, and I'm too far from the others to read their minds." He smiled in satisfaction, thinking that if he could not read the minds of the others, there was little hope that Micah, should he be in face a mind reader, could have the power to read either Schuldig's or Nagi's. "Don't say too much to Micah," said Schuldig. "Be polite, but not forthcoming. He already thinks you shy -- act as shyly as you can around him. Have you said anything about knowing what people feel?"

"No," said Nagi. "I'm not very good at that, I'm much better at moving things."

"Good lad," said Schuldig. "Don't make yourself seem too attractive to him, I have no wish to hear yet again of how much benefit the Rosenkreuz training is."

Nagi looked at the young man's grim face and looked quickly away again. "He won't make Crawford send me there, will he?" he asked.

Schuldig laughed, all grimness driven from his expression. "No one can make Crawford do anything he doesn't want to. And he wants you with us, so with us you'll stay." He ruffled Nagi's hair, continuing, "Make no mistake, Nagi, Rosenkreuz would train you and train you well. They'd teach you to wring every last drop from yourself and your abilities. But you'd be theirs. You'd be more like us, and a lot less like you."

"I like you," said Nagi loyally. "I like Crawford and Farferello. I want to be like you."

"You want to be like us as we are now," said Schuldig. "You wouldn't want to be like us as we had to be in the Schloß." He stiffened, muttering, "Listen." He waved away Nagi's protestations that he could hear nothing, and after a moment, the sounds of calls were heard, faint but drawing closer. "They've grown tired of waiting for us," said Schuldig, "here, let me --" So saying, he put his hands on Nagi's head, and the lad winced.

"Ah!" he ejaculated. "What are you doing?"

"Shh," said Schuldig, eyes closed in concentration. "I'm giving you just enough of a defence to be natural in appearance. I'd hoped to have more time. Don't worry, we'll work on this later."

"I can't stop thinking about food," complained Nagi.

"You're a growing boy. That'll look natural," grinned Schuldig. "What, do you think I can just set up walls? If Micah _can_ read minds that'd be too simple to see, and I don't have enough time."

"I'm really hungry," said Nagi in a little voice, and Schuldig laughed.

"We'll get some food just as soon as -- hello, Crawford. We've been waiting for you."

"You weren't meant to run off and explore," said Crawford, coming down the stairs. "Do you know how long you've been? We have been calling for you."

"Sorry, _Mutti_ ," said Schuldig slyly.

Crawford looked at him angrily. "It's not a joke. And to drag Nagi away on one of your idiocies!"

Schuldig shrugged, then cast his eyes to the ceiling as Nagi cried, "I came down here myself, he only followed me!"

"You should learn when a fellow is willing to shoulder the blame," muttered Schuldig. "Listen, Crawford, we're all right, we've found you some paintings upstairs, and Nagi's cleared lots of space. Now stop pretending you're not annoyed because you wanted to be the first to explore, and let's find some jewels."

"Stop reading my mind," said Crawford, but a smile crept onto his face. "The others are up in the painted room. Are you able to move more sand, Nagi, or do you need to rest?"

"Can I have something to eat?" asked Nagi, "I'm about to starve to death."

"I'll make it easier to bear later," said Schuldig, and to Crawford, quickly, "I've spoken about our guest and the need for circumspection. It's a way of hiding things for Nagi."

"Ah," said Crawford. "Go and eat something, Nagi." When the boy had left he added, "how I wish his strength at moving things was not already known."

"I'll clear all that up," said Schuldig confidently. "Come, let us rejoin our friends." He led the way back to the room with the painted figures, from where they all left the excavation to allow Nagi to eat.

"He becomes so weak after a great exertion with his ability," lied Schuldig to Micah. "Sometimes we can get no good out of him till he has both eaten and slept."

"He can certainly eat," murmured Micah as Nagi devoured a large helping of food.

"Oh, we're used to it," said Schuldig, thinking privately, "Perhaps I have made the compulsion too strong. He'll surely burst."

"Time to get back to work," said Crawford. "Nagi, I'll go down with you. We won't do too much more, don't worry. I'd advise the rest of you to get some sleep, it will in any case soon be too hot to stand around up here. We can explore more in the late afternoon." He ushered Nagi ahead of him back into the hole. After some few minutes the others took themselves to any shade afforded by the walls or by the tents, and soon fell into a slumber. Pretending to sleep, Schuldig spied on the minds of both Farfarello and Micah. Although he was annoyed that he still could not read Micah's mind, he smiled as he felt the man slip from wakefulness towards sleep. "Crawford," he thought. "Micah is asleep, as is Farfarello. I'll sleep too. Have fun." "Oh," came the reply, "how like you to cruelly tell me you are taking your ease while others work! I shall have to make you exert yourself later in recompense." Schuldig smiled, and, tipping his hat over his eyes, was soon fast asleep.

In the first room they had cleared, Nagi and Crawford stood, looking down the other clogged passages.

"Everyone's asleep," said Crawford. "Clear as much as you can, and when we leave I want you to put some sand back to make it look as if we have done relatively little. I want you to appear less of an asset, Nagi."

"If you don't trust him, why don't you just kill him?" asked Nagi, beginning to move the sand from the nearest passage.

"It is not so simple," said Crawford. "We do not know the contingencies our people may have set up in the case that he does not return. And, though I have told you that personal reasons are no cause to endanger our team or our work, part of our freedom will consist in the pleasure of allowing ourselves personal feelings. It would pain me to kill him out of hand when I might persuade him to become one of us. Would that not be better?"

"I suppose that it would," said Nagi, not wishing to argue with Crawford. "Look, this passage is almost clear, I think I can see more stairs. Can we go down together?"

"Promise me you won't run away from me," said Crawford, and when Nagi nodded, he continued, "then yes, we will explore. We will see what lies at the bottom of these stairs, but then we will return to the first passage and you can clear some of the rooms leading from it. We must be thorough in our investigations."

The two of them went down the dark passage, the light from their candle throwing more shadows than illumination in their path. As with the first passage, rooms both with closed doors and with bare openings, led off the passage. Without waiting to be instructed, Nagi took the sand from the open rooms, piling it up in readiness to make his clearing of the passage look less complete than it in truth was.

"Can't we look in these rooms too?" asked Nagi.

Crawford looked torn between his desire to stay firmly within the plan he had laid out and the desire to see new things. At length he nodded. "Don't tell Schuldig how I indulge you," he said, and stepped into a room, looking at the ceiling and walls in interest.

"I've found something!" said Nagi in excitement, holding up his prize to the light.

"It's bronze," said Crawford, peering closely at the delicate object. "I think it is some sort of hair decoration. Keep it, Nagi, as a _souvenir_. When your hair is as long as Schuldig's, you can clasp it with that."

The lad gave him a little smile, and carefully put his find away before hunting around and collecting together several shards of pottery. Once the pleasures of the room had been exhausted, they moved on to another and another.

"Why aren't we finding gold and jewels?" said Nagi in disappointment. "I want to find you something good."

"No doubt many robbers have been here over the ages," said Crawford. "It is information I want more than riches, Nagi, though I cannot deny that riches would be pleasant indeed. Let us hope that we find writings that the robbers despised, but that we may cherish."

"I would prefer gold," thought Nagi, as he nodded politely. At length Crawford patted the lad's shoulder and indicated they should return.

"Let us keep to our plan, Nagi," he said, "and return to the first corridor. We shall investigate one or two rooms there, then you can put some sand back, and we shall return to the surface, and rest a little. You can have something to eat, if you have room after your previous meal." He smiled as an annoyed look crossed the lad's face.

"How I wish you had not mentioned food," said Nagi, "for now I can think of nothing else once more. Can't Schuldig be more precise in what he does?"

Crawford laughed, saying, "But you will seem only like a normal boy, thinking merely of satisfying your stomach. He'll make it more bearable, I promise. And it may not be necessary for long," he said, quietly, as if to himself. Nagi said nothing, seeing that he was thinking once more of what should be done with their guest. Feeling sure that if any man might bend the world and those in it to his desired outcome it would be Crawford, Nagi put all worry from his mind and willingly followed the tall American to the first corridor and from thence out of the dark passageways, and out into the harsh sunlight once more to rouse the others for work.


	32. Chapter 32

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
For days they had dug and explored, Crawford greeting each new discovery with quiet satisfaction. He had sketched each of the paintings they had come across with care and attention to the smallest detail, colouring those sketches of what he deemed to be the most important paintings with the coloured pencils he had brought from Earth. "A pity," he thought, "that water is at such a premium, for I would very much like to use paint to depict these images. A pity too that photographic equipment was too bulky to bring." He looked at his drawings, comparing them with that upon the pottery he had had brought up from their excavations. "The ancient natives were an industrious and artistic people," he thought, wishing that he might somehow see their great civilisation at its height, when the city had bustled with life and commerce, rather than lying dead and desolate, covered over with the debris of millennia. A moment's regret arose in Crawford's mind that, at an age when other young men fascinated by antiquities had been studying in universities he had instead been engaged in the most awful activities on behalf of his masters. He shook this feeling from him briskly, telling himself he had no cause to feel regretful, for he had studied at least some of the ancient past and had seen sights no university man had ever seen.

"What have we discovered?" asked Micah, fanning himself with his hat as they sat in the dimming evening light. He nodded at Nagi, who was counting out the large numbers of small items that Crawford, from his examination of the paintings, had decided were hair ornaments. "Other than the natives having long hair?"

"Every piece of information is valuable," said Crawford. "We have found things here that many an antiquarian would dearly love to know."

"I am not much for antiquarian pursuits," said Micah mildly. "I shall rely on your judgement, Bradley. Are these discoveries useful?"

"They are at least interesting," said Crawford. "It will all add up to great usefulness, I am sure." He pointed out the decoration on the piece of pottery he had been examining. "Look! Is not the artistry delicate?"

"Yes," said Micah, peering at it obediently. "A flower. I do not think I have seen any flowers outside the parks of New London. I suppose this proves they must exist somewhere, or at least that they did in the past." He handed the shard back to Crawford, asking, "Is this what you hoped to find?"

"No," said Crawford. "I'd hoped to find temples. We will yet, I am sure of it, although we may need to stage an expedition to gain water. There is a native town some days from here."

"It would be a terrible thing to be trapped in this wilderness without water," said Micah, his face serious. "I will go on this expedition of yours."

"Thank you, Micah," said Crawford. He gave a slight smile adding, "Many guns make light work." Micah poured him a cup of coffee and Crawford accepted it gratefully. His old friend had said nothing that was not friendly over all these days, and could, moreover, make a pot of coffee that did not have the evil taste Crawford associated with that which Schuldig brewed, nor the weak unpleasant quality of Farfarello's. "A poor prerequisite on which to judge a man," thought Crawford in amusement to himself, and noted the little grin that flickered across Schuldig's face on the other side of the camp. "How you like to spy upon my thoughts," Crawford thought idly. "You are truly a man obsessed, Schuldig."

"You keep calling me," thought Schuldig, looking calmly out over the wasteland made beautiful by the setting sun. "Your thoughts always come back to me."

"I am simply astonished that any man can be so lazy," thought Crawford with a smile for Micah as that gentlemen made a jest.

"Have you checked your calculations again?" asked Farfarello. "I would like to see this native temple you say we should find. I would find their views on the Almighty of much interest."

"You must not destroy anything until I have gleaned all that I might from it," warned Crawford.

"Tcha. You will persuade Micah that I am a violent man," said Farfarello in a voice as innocent as that of a child. He did not smile as they all laughed, but to those that knew him well a certain satisfaction in his eye could be ascertained.

"I believe that in honour of our discoveries I will wear my hair as did the ancients," said Schuldig, snatching one of Nagi's hair pins away from the lad.

"Shall you wear it as the ladies are depicted or the men?" asked Micah, laughing at the aggrieved look upon Nagi's face.

"I will have one side of my head styled one way, and the other side the other," said Schuldig with a grin. "You little devil!" he went on as Nagi snatched the pin back, "that scratched me!"

"I am cataloguing these," said Nagi. "Do not upset my plans with your games, Schuldig." The lad blushed as they all laughed at him, and went back to his notes and the drawings he had been making in emulation of Crawford.

"He is very free with you all," murmured Micah to Crawford, "no, no, I do not seek to interfere. But do you really think this will stand him in good stead in any area of life? People would find it very queer."

"He is a clever lad," said Crawford, "and is circumspect when the situation demands it."

Micah nodded pleasantly, and refilled Crawford's cup. "You were in America, Bradley. I have been to New York as a man, but have never gone ho--" he paused and said more quietly, "to Virginia. Have you ever wanted to?"

"I did," said Crawford. Seeing that Micah desired more information and yet was restraining himself from asking, he went on briefly, saying, "My parents are dead. My father in the war, my mother some years after. I killed the man who cheated her out of her home."

"Good," said Micah. "Miz Crawford was a real lady." He looked down at the ground, some question fighting to pass his lips.

"I saw your father," said Crawford very quietly. "He was well. I told him I didn't know what had happened to you, I thought it kinder than saying you were dead, as I had believed. I'm sorry, Micah, I didn't ask after your mother." Micah nodded silently, his gaze still cast down. "Perhaps you don't want me to speak of him as your father, given your views on our relationship," said Crawford.

"No," said Micah. "He was a father to me no matter what the truth may be. He always said I was a good boy," he looked up, his dark eyes filled with sudden tears as he essayed a jest to lighten the moment, continuing, "When he wasn't calling me a limb of Satan, that is!" Crawford put a hand upon his shoulder as Micah sighed and wiped at his eyes. "How sentimental I have become," said Micah wearily. "Our teachers would be most displeased."

"Sentiment is nothing a man should be ashamed of," said Crawford, choosing his words with care. "We are not automatons, after all, and should not think we can purge all affections from ourselves. It isn't a weakness, Micah, to forge bonds with others. I've learnt that in my work. It has made me better able to carry out my tasks."

"It's better to leave the past behind us," said Micah, "what good are old pains and old affections, when we cannot have them now?" He wiped at his eyes again angrily, as if disgusted with himself.

"We can renew old friendships," said Crawford, squeezing the hand that still lay upon Micah's shoulder. "We can make new ones."

"We aren't all given pet mind readers," said Micah as Schuldig strolled over to join them, a determined look upon his face.

"A pet?" said Crawford. "He wouldn't thank you for that." He looked up at Schuldig, who stood before them, full of nervous energy. "What is it, Schuldig?"

"I have a question," said Schuldig fiercely. He paused, and took a breath, "If I might ask a question," he said, in a milder tone. He squatted before Crawford and Micah, a smile upon his face that seemed to take some control not to become a grimace. "You were held in some other place than the Schloß, Micah, is that not so?"

"Yes," said Micah, seeming glad of the distraction. "In a village some few miles away. We could see the Schloß up on the hills. No doubt you could see the village."

"Yes," said Schuldig in wonder, "yes. We weren't allowed go there. You were that close." He leaned forward, his face intent. "They wanted you because they thought you were Crawford's brother? They thought to use their learning to force abilities upon you?"

"Yes," said Micah in some confusion, "I've said all this before."

"Were you the only such student?" Schuldig asked.

"No," said Micah, as if he did not see why Schuldig should ask. "They had other children they were studying, the brothers and sisters of students in the Schloß. It was a developed programme."

Schuldig closed his eyes and swallowed, looking then in entreaty at Micah. "A girl," he whispered, "perhaps you saw her, or heard of her. She may have been there later than you, for you're the same age as Crawford. She would have been --" he paused, frowning, "she would have been older than me. Maybe two years older. She had red hair, like mine, and blue eyes, like mine. Was there such a girl?"

"You have a sister," said Micah flatly.

"Yes," said Schuldig. "Please -- was she there?"

Micah looked from him to Crawford, and back again. "I don't recall such a girl," he said. "When might she have been taken? How old were you?"

A look of worry crossed Schuldig's face. "I was -- I wasn't so old. I think I was ten."

"He was ten," said Crawford quietly. "He's twenty-two now."

"When I was fifteen, then," said Micah, shaking his head. "I don't recall such a girl. Perhaps we could enquire. What is her name?"

Schuldig stayed silent, a dull red flush creeping across his scarred cheeks. "I can't remember," he choked out at length.

The tiniest of smiles began to creep about Micah's lips. "You can't remember?" he said. "What sort of man doesn't know the name of his own sister?" He waved a hand idly as Schuldig bit back a retort. "No matter, no matter. If you are right in your description and approximation of her age we can enquire on those fronts. Her hair is the same colour as yours, you say, and her eyes the same colour too? And in a girl we might expect that your lankiness might be slenderness and grace, but that she perhaps not be as tall as you."

"That sounds reasonable," said Schuldig, a pleased smile beginning to form on his lips as if the description were calling up memories he could have no way of possessing.

"So, we are looking for a willowy girl with hair like copper and very blue eyes," mused Micah. "I feel deprived in never having made such a pretty little miss's acquaintance. We will make these enquiries, and no doubt someone will remember." He laughed shortly and said with deep malice, "I feel sure she would have been popular with _all_ the boys."

Even as Schuldig's expression changed and he made a wordless cry of rage and flung himself forward, Crawford leapt up and bore him over backwards, both of them landing full-length in the sand. Schuldig writhed furiously, and Crawford found the young man had somehow contrived to draw his knife. Seizing Schuldig's wrist, Crawford brought it down upon the ground several times until the knife fell from the younger man's grasp. "Stop this!" cried Crawford, "Schuldig! Have you gone mad? Stop this!"

" _La los! La mich los!"_ screamed Schuldig. "Let me _go_ , you _verdammter Amerikanischer Brillentrger!_ " He fought wildly, managing at last to land a blow on the side of Crawford's head, and using the moment of dizziness it achieved to wriggle free and flee into the gathering dusk.

"Bradley! Bradley, are you all right?" cried Micah, helping Crawford up. "I didn't mean -- it was but a _joke_ , Bradley."

"A poor one, Micah," said Crawford, picking up Schuldig's forgotten knife. "What man would wish to hear such a thing?"

"I'm sorry," said Micah fervently, and dropping his voice, went on, "Truly, my friend -- I wished only not to think on my own past. I didn't mean to upset him, I should have remembered how highly strung mind readers are."

"He's not highly strung. He is insulted," said Crawford shortly, and stalked away after Schuldig, leaving Micah standing alone, with Nagi staring wide-eyed at them both, held back by Farfarello. "Schuldig!" called Crawford. "Damn it, _Schuldig!_ " After a longer search than he liked, when the darkness was all but complete, he saw Schuldig perched on top of a section of wall, and went over, saying off-handedly, "You forgot your knife." Schuldig did not look up, even when Crawford put a hand upon his arm.

"I won't apologise," said Schuldig in German, his voice low and rough. "I _won't_."

"He has apologised," said Crawford in that same tongue. "It was just a joke, Schuldig, though in poor taste. Come back to the camp now."

"He shouldn't have laughed at me," said Schuldig. "You don't laugh at me when I can't remember something."

"Perhaps he is unused to mind readers of your ability," said Crawford. "Come on, come back."

"He thinks me a fool who does not even know his own age," said Schuldig angrily. "Do not think to tell me that Nagi is unsure of his age! I know perfectly well how old I am, they told me in the Schloß. It is just that questions can surprise me, you know that." He consented at last to be pulled down from the wall and stood stiffly within Crawford's arms. "I hate them," he said viciously. "I hate them, Crawford. Micah is right, what sort of man cannot remember his sister's name?"

"Don't think of that now," said Crawford, "keep calm. When we return to Earth we can investigate, I promise you. For now, take comfort in Micah not remembering anyone of such a description. It is better than knowing she _was_ there, is it not?"

"I envy you," said Schuldig. "Your parents may be dead, but you can remember them, and at least you _know_ their fate."

"We'll turn all Germany upside-down till your family falls out," said Crawford lightly, seeking to improve his friend's humour.

"I may be Austrian or Swiss," said Schuldig, "and have just had the memory and the accent beaten out of me along with everything else. You find my family for me. I'll give you my parents' names to help your search."

"You know them?" said Crawford in surprise.

"Of course," said Schuldig, and laughed bitterly. "Mama and Papa. What else should they be called?" He sighed, and turned away, looking into the darkness. "I won't knife him," he said wearily. "You had better think of some punishment for me, given my disrespect and attempted murder."

"We'll worry about that at another time," said Crawford. "He'll be happy enough to have you back, he thinks he has chased you away, you being - as are of course all mind readers - so highly strung."

"Well, I can't say there's no truth in that," said Schuldig, the thinnest thread of humour in his voice. "Not for myself, of course, but other mind readers. I am a rock of sense and reliability."

"Yes," said Crawford. "You are. Now, stop anchoring us out here where some wild _dov_ or even one of our own may think we look delectable, and let's get back to the camp. An early night, I think."

"For both of us?" asked Schuldig, and when Crawford nodded, said, "Good. I'm _tired_ , and I want to sleep. I'll be better company tomorrow."

"You are fine company now," said Crawford simply, leading him back.

Schuldig was silent, then, before they could be heard by the others, said, "Thank you, Crawford."

Over the next days they all worked diligently, although not without some strain showing in their speech with one another. Schuldig was as gay as anyone might wish, but found himself treated, to his annoyance, with some solicitude by his friends. Micah was polite and cheerful and treated somewhat more coldly by Farfarello and Nagi. At last Schuldig took them aside and told them he was not some girl to be coddled and that Crawford had decreed that Micah should be treated with courtesy, after which remonstration everyone acted more naturally. Thereafter Schuldig's gay smile began to look more genuine, although he was never the first to engage Micah in conversation, and all of them concentrated their strengths on work.

"Let us take a rest," said Crawford, when they were deep in the passages of the palace. "We've certainly worked hard this morning."

"You merely want to puzzle over your notes and drawings," said Schuldig. "No time for that. There may be treasure behind this door, it is so securely barred."

Nagi ran his hands over the surface of the stout, stone door, a look of utmost concentration upon his thin little face. He looked in some consternation at Schuldig who at once engaged himself in deep communion with his ration of water while communicating with Nagi by the means he was so proficient. "What is it," thought Schuldig. "Is something wrong?"

"I think it is a lock," thought Nagi. "A simple one, though very heavy in construction. I believe I may unlock it, with a little effort."

"Well, then," thought Schuldig, "go ahead."

"But I can't!" thought Nagi in despair. "It will appear too clever a trick!"

"Ah," thought Schuldig. "Yes, indeed. Well, open it by main force, if you can. Or can you do both at once, if that might be easier?"

Nagi sighed, a great weary sigh as if he had been asked to perform an impossible task, as if the whole world were always heaping impossible tasks upon his narrow young shoulders and he were the merest hairsbreadth from collapsing under the weight of such unreasonable demands. "I think I can open this," he said. He frowned at the door and it began to make the most horrid noise, of stone screeching as it was dragged across stone. With such a cacophony only those who knew to listen for it could hear the sudden _click_ as Nagi felt with his abilities for the tumblers of the lock set within the door and brought back the mechanism. He brought the now-unlocked door open, inch by painful, screeching inch, as slowly as he might. At last, after the hideous shrieking had bored its way into every head, the door stood open. They entered, finding a cool room that was unpainted, although some figures had been carved upon the walls. Steps ran from the level of the doorway down to a sunken floor

"What is this?" said Farfarello, pointing towards the centre of the room. The only feature of note, it seemed, was a massive circular indentation, scoring upon the floor, neatly carved and bevelled to give it a pleasing appearance. In the centre of the circle was set a ring of stone, seemingly carved out of the piece from which it stood proud. They all walked about it, looking down with interest.

"Look at these sealings," said Crawford, pointing to the squares of clay that had been long ago pressed across the scoring. "I want to make plaster casts of them." Brooking no argument, he directed Nagi in the mixing of enough Plaster of Paris to cover all the sealings, and would not allow anyone to interfere until he was quite sure the plaster was dry. Then, having carefully lifted both the clay and the plaster away, he turned his attention to the strange marking once more. "How stupid I am!" he exclaimed suddenly. "I have been staring at this and asking myself if it could be an altar of some kind, that perhaps the sacrificial victims might be tied to this ring. No! Of course, it is more simple. It is a lid. Can you lift it, Nagi?"

"Yes," said Nagi, delighted to assist Crawford. "Do you think treasure is hidden beneath?"

"I most earnestly hope so," said Crawford, clenching his hands into fists as the great lid, as he had dubbed it, began to move. It lifted up but a little, and then Nagi slid it sideways, again making a horrible noise. At last it was moved completely, and a vast dark hole was revealed, from whence issued a cooling breeze.

"What is down there?" asked Nagi.

In answer, Crawford picked up one of the smaller stones that seemed to be everywhere, and dropped it over the lip of the great hole. There was silence, and then, faint and far away, there was a splash. "A great treasure indeed, Nagi," said Crawford as the others laughed and clapped each other on the back. "We have found a well. We have as much water as we shall need."

* * * * * * *

Note: Schuldig says to Crawford, "Let go! Let me go! You damned American Four-Eyes!" Many thanks to [](http://cygny.livejournal.com/profile)[**cygny**](http://cygny.livejournal.com/) for grammar-checking and the insult :-)


	33. Chapter 33

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
Although Nagi often felt that great injustices against him were excused on the grounds of him still being a boy he could not deny that he was very glad to have been spared the irritations that the others had suffered as their beards grew. Schuldig had complained the most, bewailing the covering, as he put it, of his great beauty. Nagi had been amused that the sight of the first water he had drawn up from the well had posed a terrible conundrum for Schuldig, who was torn between shaving and washing his hair. There being plenty of water for both, both were soon enough achieved by all and even Nagi who, like all boys, felt that an over-attention to matters of the bath chamber marked one out as irredeemably girlish, was happy to make use of the soap tossed to him by Farfarello. He was glad that his older friends were so much more happy, thinking that Crawford and Schuldig must have endured more than he knew, for their gay spirits the previous night at being clean when they went to bed had been marked, and had, as it seemed, not yet worn away. Schuldig whistled cheerfully as he stirred the pot of porridge, causing Crawford to cast fond glances at him. Nagi thought he agreed: Schuldig's musical abilities were not ones that would have won him any praise in decent circles. Everyone looked like they should, thought Nagi, glad his friends looked their young selves once more. He glanced shyly at Micah, whom he had not seen without a beard before, and noted that the man looked so much younger now he had shaved. His resemblance to Crawford was not so great, thought Nagi with a sniff, who felt that quite enough people in his life had some prior claim upon Crawford's affections without adding to their number.

Crawford turned his attention upon his notes, absently eating the porridge he had been given and bracing himself as Schuldig leaned upon him, peering at the sketches and lines of small, neat writing. They murmured together, pointing out features in the notes to one another, and Nagi turned away with a small sigh. "Oh, I wish I knew more of this," he thought, "so that I could be of more use!" He pulled his own notebook from his pocket and stared discontentedly at his large, childish writing, with its misspelled words. "Useless," he thought savagely, and thrust the little book back into his pocket, staring glumly at the sand between his feet.

"Cheer up, lad," said Micah, sitting beside him and patting his knee. "What has you looking so down in the mouth?"

Nagi looked sidelong at him, silently, then thought he should be polite. "I'm not very good at writing," he admitted. "I am better at reading, but writing is what is needed if I am to help Crawford categorise our findings."

"You shouldn't worry," said Micah. "How long have you been learning?"

"I had to learn English first," said Nagi, worried that he would seem an indolent and lazy student. Micah nodded, as if that were very understandable, and Nagi felt as if he could breathe a little easier, for if he were a bad student he was sure it would seem as if Crawford were a bad teacher. "I like reading," he volunteered, "and I'm sure I'll get better at it."

Micah smiled at him, saying, "I'm sure you will. And can you read anything in German?"

Nagi nodded, although it was in truth an exaggeration to say he could do more than very slowly puzzle out words Schuldig wrote for him in the German script. The horrid thought came into Nagi's mind that Micah would now speak with him in that tongue, or would ask him what he knew of it. "It's very difficult," he said quickly, "I have to practise more at it." He fought back the blush at saying to anyone the kind of words Schuldig had taught him, laughing as Nagi had repeated the curses in his little voice.

"Crawford wants you both," said Farfarello, stepping before them.

Crawford was now standing, drawing swift lines in the sand. "Look at this," he said as the others gathered round him. "This is the building we have been exploring. We entered here," he said, indicating the spot where they had broken through, "and have searched out all these passages -- here, and leading to here. In each place we have come up against dead ends, and have needed to retrace our steps. The rooms we have found have been finely plastered and painted, but are not overlarge by the standards of rooms in ancient buildings such as those in New London. They are, perhaps the private rooms of ladies and gentlemen. Look at this plan -- what can we say about it?"

"It's missing a piece, here," said Farfarello, pointing at the centre of the lines Crawford had drawn. The passages skirted it in neat and regular angles, leaving what seemed to be a large blank spot in the middle.

"Yes," said Crawford, in satisfaction. "Some of the corridors show signs of repair, though the rooms do not. It is possible that the ancients, for whatever reason, have walled off part of this building. Perhaps later natives undertook such labour while the city was still known, dividing the building for reasons of superstition or a desire to use the separate parts for differing purposes. We have come, as it were, in by the back door, gentlemen. The front is here," he said, tapping a stick taken from the native thorn bushes down in the missing area. "And it is here, I would hope that we might find the public rooms that may contain the type of information we seek."

"You hope to find a library?" asked Micah. "Can you read the native scripts?"

"I hope to find the sort of art that native empires display to cow both their own subjects and those foreigners present whether through diplomacy or conquest," said Crawford. "As to the native scripts, I have studied them, though in no great detail. Schuldig can tell you how he despaired on the trip here, finding no great interest in the scholarly monographs that filled our quarters."

"Well, let us search out this missing piece of the building without delay," smiled Micah. "Do we break through one of the corridors you believe to have been walled up, or attempt to go down from the surface?"

"Through a wall, I think," said Crawford. "The sun will make it too hard to keep going up here, should we need to make several attempts. Let's make a start."

In the dark passages the air felt heavy and hot as they clustered at the end of a corridor, with Crawford examining the stone carefully, having picked away some of the plaster.

"It is not as good a quality as the stone elsewhere, and the blocks seem smaller in size," he mused. "And those rooms," he continued, pointing back to the two nearest doors, "the one on the left, at least, extends past the point the corridor ends. We'll work here."

"Will I bring it down?" asked Nagi eagerly, glad to have a chance to help.

"Better not," said Crawford, looking at the wall. "There isn't much space, and the dust will be very great. We'll start it off, Nagi, and perhaps you will be able to remove the stone more cleanly when we have broken through even a little." Without wasting further words he took up a pickaxe, and, with the others, began the arduous task. Nagi hung back, offering water when it was needed. Soon the wall was bare of its plaster, and the inferior quality of the workmanship was plain to see. Unlike the smooth, well-fitted stones of the rest of the building, these stones were of irregular sizes, and not so nicely finished, being mortared into place and the imperfections having been hidden under the carefully applied plaster. The men worked on, perspiring freely in the heat, and at last some of the stones came free. At once Schuldig caught up one of their lamps and, taking the candle from it, thrust it though, peering in curiously.

"The corridor goes on!" he cried. "I think it turns ahead, but cannot be sure."

The others raised a weary cheer, Farfarello leaning back against the side wall of the corridor.

"Some water, please, Nagi," he said. "You were right, Crawford! We'll get our treasure and your art yet." He nudged at Schuldig with a foot, continuing, "Have you become mesmerised, peering up there?"

"I think," Schuldig said slowly, "I think I see something - something moving. I can't see it properly, but it's -- it's coming this way, it sees the light! -- _Ach, lieber Gott!_ " he shrieked, falling backwards.

The others drew their guns swiftly and trained them upon the hole in the wall, their eyes wide. Nagi pulled Schuldig up the corridor with his abilities and fell beside him to draw the young man's hands away from covering his face. He was most annoyed to find Schuldig was shaking not with fear but with the effort of keeping his laughter silent.

"You are very wicked," said Nagi, even as Schuldig gave up his struggle and simply lay upon the ground, laughing heartily.

"I'll get you for this later," said Farfarello, putting away his gun once more. Schuldig waved a hand in a lazy and obscene gesture, still laughing.

Crawford and Micah exchanged a glance that showed that they were in perfect accord in their estimation of Schuldig's joke. Holstering their weapons they took up their picks once again, and bent once more to the task of bringing down the wall. Nagi, thinking that it was not a waste now that they had found the well, dribbled water from his flasks on Schuldig's face until the young man stopped laughing and sat up.

"Thank you for the bath, Nagi," he grinned. "It was most refreshing. I'll have some to drink now, if you don't mind." He swallowed a long draught and jumped to his feet, saying, "You are all prone to jumping at shadows, it seems! Never fear, I shall keep the monster away from you." So saying he went back to work, still chuckling.

At length, Crawford indicated to Nagi that he should bring down the remainder of the wall, which the lad did with great enthusiasm, making the dust die down as quickly as he might. All of them looked down the newly revealed passage, noting that it was free of sand, and had doors opening from it to either side.

"You were right, Bradley," said Micah, smiling widely. "If ever I need a man after this to interpret plans and charts, your advice will be the first I seek."

Crawford returned his smile, and stepped over the rubble into the further passage, feeling as he did so like an explorer setting foot on an entirely new world, one unknown by either the present-day natives or those men who had come to their planet. "Such childish fantasies," he chided himself in amusement, "why, soon I will be regretting that Schuldig's monster is not real, so that I might fight it." Briefly he imagined himself as a knight engaged in brave combat with a dragon, and, as he saw a little smile creep across Schuldig's face, emended his day-dream with an image of the young German as a captive princess. "Give me more pearls," Schuldig's voice murmured in his mind, and the image was suddenly wearing heavy necklets of those marine treasures. " _Much_ better," thought Schuldig with great satisfaction in his tone. Smiling to himself, Crawford lead the way down the passage, opening the doors to peer into the rooms they passed. The first two were empty, and then Crawford was at the bend in the corridor. He turned, a feeling of even greater anticipation in his heart, and tried not to be disappointed to merely see the corridor continue on.

"We'll find your tablets of gold yet," murmured Schuldig, squeezing his friend's elbow. "Come on!"

The door of the next room was stuck tight, and required Nagi to open it, a task the lad did without complaint, wishing to see what lay within. Holding their lamps high, the little band entered, looking in pleasure at the artistry laid out before them. The walls were painted brightly, showing an array of the natives and their animals, and the stone was carved intricately to give a border of the native plants running all about the room. A low platform of stone lay, broad and long, against one wall, its sides carved even more cunningly, and showing native beauties embracing. Crawford ran his hand over the stone, marvelling how smooth it was, and how bright the paint that picked out the details had remained. Noting the carefully-smoothed hollow cut in the top of the slab, he said, "This is a bed. Surely the mattress was laid here, to reach the top of the stone."

"It would be a firm bed indeed," said Micah. "These Martians are a hardy folk." He looked about him, continuing, "this room is so much bigger than those we have found before. Surely a person of some estate lodged here."

"A girl," said Farfarello, holding up some little bottles of stone carved so thin that light could be seen through it. "Here are her perfume bottles." He handed them to Crawford, and looked at the paintings once more. "Perhaps this is some story beloved of the native maidens," he mused, pointing to figures that held out their hands to one another. "Is this not some knight and his lady?"

"Perhaps we will be able to interpret it, if we can find some of their tales written down," said Crawford. "There are years of work here for a team of antiquarians." He smiled at the apprehensive faces that turned his way. "I know we cannot stay here forever," he said. "We have a definite goal in mind, I have not forgotten that, do not fear."

"Good," said Schuldig. "You still have to take me to Paris, don't forget."

"You'll terrorise the Champs Elysee yet," said Crawford absently, leaning forward to peer more closely at the paintings. A longing arose again in him to be in truth a man who had the time to spend years in such contemplation, then he shook such thoughts from himself briskly. "I'll sketch this later," he said. "We should move on."

The rooms they went into became larger and more lavishly decorated, and Crawford had to resign himself to being led away from the images he wished to examine. Careful searches revealed some small items of worth that they eagerly gathered up, Nagi resisting in some annoyance attempts to clip his hair back with hairpins shaped like plants or _ayit_ in flight.

"Ah!" he ejaculated, shaking them from his head. "Stop that! I'm not a girl!"

"The Martian gentlemen also decorated their _coiffures_ ," laughed Schuldig, clipping the lad's hair back once more.

"Let him be, Schuldig," said Micah with a laugh. "Not all of us need such pretty gewgaws in our hair."

Schuldig said nothing in reply, but at once stopped teasing Nagi, turning instead to fix his attention back upon the images adorning the wall. "I'm going on," he said abruptly to Crawford.

"All right," said Crawford. "Don't get eaten."

"Pah!" ejaculated Schuldig. "I'm the most dangerous thing in these passages. Monsters, beware!" So saying he slipped out of the room, and went quickly down the passage, ignoring the doors to the left and right of him, paying no attention to the eerie movements of the shadows cast by the lone candle in his lamp. "Be a man," he told himself angrily. "Do not take offence at every little thing, unless you wish to appear in truth no more than a high strung fool. You know how the others regard you, that shall not change. Oh!" he thought, stung, "why cannot Crawford leap to my defence when that man speaks? Not," he thought hastily, "that I need him to." He forced open a large door, and looked in dissatisfaction at the beautiful room in which he found himself. "More paintings," he thought, then looked closer. "Writing, if I am not mistaken," he muttered. "Well, the others will be here soon enough, I'm not running back to alert Crawford." The glint of gold catching his eye, he pocketed what seemed to be a little box, and strolled on to the large double doors set into the far wall. "Oof!" he gasped, straining at them. "Perhaps I should call Nagi. One more try--" With an immense thrust he opened one door just enough to create a gap through which he could squeeze his slender frame. The room inside was large enough to leave him in a tiny circle of light, the walls not catching any of the light form his lamp at all. He prowled around, feeling all the while that he was being watched, the small hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Stepping back until he reached a wall, Schuldig raised his light and looked carefully at the images, which were very large and fine. Bands of what were quite certainly one of the ancient scripts ran about the walls, separating scenes from one another. Schuldig looked in approval at a king standing over his defeated enemies who raised their hands up in supplication, while the ladies of the enemy soldiers stood behind, their hands on their heads, weeping. "Very pretty," thought Schuldig, admiring the red of the blood. " _Ach!_ " he ejaculated as he barked his shins on what he discovered, with rising excitement, to be a chest carved from stone. He heaved at the lid, but could not move it more than a fraction. "There will be nothing left by the robbers," he admonished himself, restraining himself from calling Nagi at once. "We need to discover a lost tomb, as we did in Egypt." Leaving the chest he went about the whole circuit of the room, pleased by its great size, and seeing dim shapes in the centre that he wished to investigate once there was more light. At last he found that on one side there was a dais raised some three feet high. Stepping up onto it he discovered a further, higher platform. "Gold!" he thought exultantly, seeing how it gave back the light with a dull, rich gleam. Running his hands over it he thought, "or gold leaf, at least. Why did the robbers not strip it bare?" Looking up he paused, his hands and mind still. " _Gott,_ " he whispered. " _Mein Gott,_ Crawford hasn't gone mad after all." He looked up at the immense and detailed images covering the entire wall, looking at the representations of buildings, of canals, of people bowing low to the figures that flung gold down from their balcony, and, over and over, of richly dressed and handsome figures lifting their hands up in attitudes of prayer to the sun, which figure, shining with gold hung massive and round above its worshippers, its rays reaching down to bless them, each ray ending in a gently outstretched hand. It was exactly as Schuldig remembered from his days of exhaustion under the gaze of that same luminary, on the far distant world of his birth.

"It's like Egypt all over again," he breathed, his face feeling like it would split from smiling. "No! It is better by far!" So saying, he whirled about and ran for the door, barely avoiding half-seen obstacles as they loomed out of the darkness. "Crawford!" he cried happily, " _Crawford!_ Look what I have found for you! _Schnell!_ "


	34. Chapter 34

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
Crawford looked up at the great painting of the sun, a small and satisfied smile upon his lips. Beside him Schuldig stood grinning, having fallen at last silent, at least in speech. His voice ran on in Crawford's mind, telling and retelling the discovery of the painting, what Schuldig made of the similarities and dissimilarities it bore to the art of the city of the Horizon of the Aten, and how pleased Schuldig was that it had been he who had found it. Crawford reached out to squeeze Schuldig's arm briefly, never taking his eyes from the painting. As its nature became clear to him he laughed gaily.

"This is a map, gentlemen. The city is laid bare to us. Surely this is the palace in which we stand," he said, indicating the great building from whose balconies the richly dressed figures flung gold. "And here is the dry canal, filled with water. Look at the ships bearing riches! And this," he cried, pointing at a building limned with gold and scarlet, "surely this is their great temple? Finally!" he crowed. "I knew we wouldn't have to dig every inch of this place."

"This is more than gold leaf," said Farfarello, investigating the platform before the painting. "It's a sheet of gold moulded to fit the stone beneath. See?" he continued, prying it away a little. "Careless of them, to leave such a treasure behind."

"Why did they wall this off?" asked Micah, frowning. "There are other decorations of gold here - surely they would have stripped this bare if they had had any sense?"

"A sudden catastrophe, perhaps," said Crawford absently, his gaze still on the painting. "Perhaps they feared a curse, perhaps this worship was seen by them as a blasphemy, and they disdained to touch the treasures associated with it. As with the ancient heretic of Egypt, perhaps they blotted out the memory of this place."

Nagi sighed, and amused himself by pushing heavy objects about on the floor. He cast his eyes on the chest that Schuldig had found and wondered if he should open it by himself or if he should wait for Crawford's order.

"Are you weary?" asked Micah, laying a hand upon the lad's thin shoulders. "You seem sad."

"I wish I had been in Egypt to help Crawford," said Nagi, hating how petulant and childish his voice sounded.

"Why you would have been but a very tiny lad!" laughed Micah. "Think only how much help you are here."

Nagi looked at him in surprise, realising of a sudden that Micah thought him younger by far than his years. He opened his mouth to say he was older than he looked, then stopped in confusion. Surely it did not matter if he said such a thing, if Crawford were going to convince Micah of the rightness of seeking freedom. But what, thought Nagi, if Micah did not agree? It seemed to him inconceivable that any man should disagree with Crawford's arguments, and he resolved to tell Micah that he was not such a little boy as he seemed, but a valued member of Crawford's team. The moment had passed, however, and with a friendly squeeze of his hand upon the lad's shoulder, Micah seemed to feel he had reassured Nagi, and left his side. Feeling it would be babyish indeed to call after the man with the fact that he was not a small child, Nagi turned his attention back to the heavy stone chest, pushing at the lid carefully in an attempt to move it as quietly as he might. At last he had moved it enough to peer inside, holding up his lantern. Within he saw richly coloured cloth, soft and rotten with great age, his fingers penetrating it at the slightest pressure. Very carefully he tried to withdraw what he had found, using only his abilities, and finding that it was a heavily embroidered blood-red robe of a size that would surely cover a tall native from shoulders to ankles. Even as he thought to himself that it would be unbearable to wear such a thing in the great heat of the Martian sun the material crumbled, falling away from the golden embroidery and causing the jewels sewn upon the hem and cuffs to tear away. Nagi felt queerly sad at the destruction, wishing he had left the robe within its dark sanctuary where it had waited for so long.

"Those are pretty," said Farfarello behind him, causing him to jump. "What's wrong with you?" the Irishman continued, noticing Nagi's sadness.

"I didn't mean to tear it," said Nagi.

"Don't worry, Crawford won't care," said Farfarello, stooping to pick up the gems. "Very nice. Here, you get that one over there, it has rolled beneath that table. Is there anything else in this chest?"

"More robes, I think," said Nagi, telling himself that Farfarello was right, and that all he need think of was making Crawford happy. "I've only begun to look this moment."

"Well, don't miss anything," said Farfarello in his quiet voice. He handed the gems to Nagi with a smile that twisted the scars across his face, saying, "these will be very useful to us. Easily portable wealth is always good -- far more practical than trying to take that sheet of gold from the dais. Well done, Nagi."

Nagi nodded, seeing that Farfarello was trying to cheer him. It was good to think that he found the means to finance their activities, he thought. Crawford would be pleased with him. He turned his attentions back upon the contents of the chest, leaving Farfarello to wander about the room once more. By the time he had thoroughly investigated the chest he had a pile of gems neatly stacked on the floor, arranged according to colour and size. The golden embroidery he attempted to preserve if it seemed to him to be words or pictures, but if it was no more than a regular design he did not attempt to save it, using his abilities instead to pluck it from the cloth and winding from it a ball of golden thread until he had something that even the most pampered of cats worshipped as a god by the ancients of Egypt would have been proud to possess as a plaything.

"Nagi!" called Schuldig. " _Komm_ , we will move on." He tugged at Crawford, smiling. "You can't start drawing this now," he said. "You will need more light, and a bigger notebook."

With great reluctance Crawford put away the small notebook in which he had been making quick sketches and let himself be tugged away from before the painting. He smiled at the handfuls of jewels and golden thread Nagi held up to him, ruffling the lad's hair and noting how his eyes lit up, though the lad tried to hide his pleasure at Crawford's approval.

"I think I found some writing," said Nagi hopefully, "over here."

Crawford followed him, and peered carefully at the embroideries Nagi had preserved, making careful note of those that seemed to him most interesting. "Good," he said. "I don't think there's any point in trying to keep these as they are. You can add them to your ball, Nagi."

"And later Schuldig will show you how to crochet pretty doilies," said Farfarello, smirking as Schuldig muttered obscenities in the German tongue.

On they went, finding large and well-appointed rooms that seemed untouched by later thieves. Finding a stoutly-barred door covered with clay sealings, Crawford first made plaster-of-paris casts before allowing Nagi to open the door. Holding their lanterns high, they stared in at the stone chests. Crawford kept his excitement from his face, feeling that at least one of their number should act properly, although he understood quite well the urges that had Schuldig, Farfarello and Micah grinning widely. "Nagi," said Crawford. "If you would be so kind--" He indicated the nearest of the chests, and Nagi pushed its lid away with a wave of his hand. They crowded about the chest, looking in. It was filled with thin coins of gold, each the size of a sixpence. Schuldig whooped with glee, running his hands through the coins, letting them cascade down from his fingers.

"Rich!" he cried, "We're rich!"

"We have been rich before," said Crawford.

"And I enjoyed every minute! I despise being anything _but_ rich, Crawford," cried Schuldig in excitement, so that the others laughed at him. "A man cannot live properly if he is not rich."

"Well, the money won't buy us anything out here," said Micah. "We are rich, but must continue living as we have done."

"Nonsense," said Schuldig, "I shall go to that native town and employ servants. And buy some of the native wine while I'm there, and their most tasty delicacies. I plan on living a life of indolent luxury."

"You can be as indolent as you like," said Crawford, "after we have finished here for the day. Yes, yes, you can take some if you want. Nagi, the other chests, please."

Within the other chests were more coins of differing metals, and other things of great worth. One of the largest was filled with the remains of what seemed to be items of some dark wood, now rotted and little more than dust. Crawford sighed, wondering what they had been, and feeling once more the great age of the city. "How queer it is," he thought, "that with their gold and silver they should find mere wood so valuable. Scarcity makes even the meanest of things precious." He ran a finger through the dust, straightening then to move the others along. "We should leave," he said. "Leave the coins, there is no need to move them now, who will come to steal them?" He looked about at the treasures, saying, "We'll have to leave most of it ourselves. It would be impossible to take it all back with us, and it would draw too much attention our way even if we could."

"You forget I do not like being poor," grumbled Schuldig.

Crawford laughed, saying, "Oh, we will take enough to make ourselves comfortable. But this isn't what we came for. Come now, we have been down here many hours, and must still explore more before we rest." So saying, he finally succeeded in moving his friends on from their contemplation of the treasures and back out into the passages.

  
* * *

  
Over the next days Nagi found himself queerly dissatisfied, finding the others had little time for him. Farfarello had never been one for much conversation, and now was quieter than before, seeming worn out with the efforts to which he bent his body in Crawford's service. Every day he dug where Crawford directed, growing, it seemed to Nagi thinner and thinner, and neglecting to eat the food given to him. Crawford spent much time copying and interpreting the great picture in what they were now calling the throne room, and when not working there kept himself busy puzzling out the meanings of the inscriptions, working slowly with much reference to unwieldy grammar books and dictionaries. Schuldig divided his time between Crawford and Farfarello, in both cases doing his best to be as lazy as possible. One evening when Nagi attempted to hold Schuldig's attention to help him with his reading he was most annoyed to find the young German's eyes drifting closed, and shoved at Schuldig irritably when the young man attempted to lean heavily upon him to sleep. Micah also spent much time with Crawford, being in his company almost every moment that Schuldig was not. All in all, Nagi was left very much to his own devices. "I am not very useful," he thought sadly, looking about him at the deserted campsite. "I cannot draw well enough to help Crawford, neither can I read the Martian writing. I am not entertaining enough for Schuldig. I cannot even get Farfarello to eat. All I am good for is moving things and carrying water." At this thought he stood guiltily, thinking he should make sure that Crawford had enough water in the throne room. Then he sat again, thinking, "Why can't Schuldig get it, if he needs it? If I am supposed to be valued as their equal, then I should have something more interesting to do." He looked about him, then jumped to his feet. He would explore, he thought, and would find something of interest to tell Crawford about later. Bringing the great picture to mind, he looked ruminatively up into the rocks and gullies that formed the side of the valley closest to the camp. Strange symbols had decorated the valley walls in the painting, he remembered. "Perhaps they are the sites of inscriptions," he thought. "I'll find them." Seizing up a flask of water and some dried native fruits, he pulled the brim of his hat down, checked that the little pistol Crawford had long ago given him was safe in his pocket, and ran swiftly away from the camp, leaving it empty and quiet behind him.

  
In the throne room, Crawford stood upon a ladder laid against the great painting, making careful note of the writing inscribed under representations of buildings. The light dimmed and shadows flickered, causing him to squint at the page. "Schuldig," he called, "another candle, if you please."

"I am, as always, astonished by the excitement of my life with you," said Schuldig, rummaging in the pack by his feet and withdrawing a fresh candle. "Throw down your lantern." This being done, he replaced the candle quickly and, lighting it, carried it up to Crawford more carefully than it had come down. "You will go blind," grumbled Schuldig. "All this study is what has you wearing spectacles."

"I've always been short-sighted," said Crawford calmly. "I'd have thought it very girlish to wear spectacles when I was a child, but I have more sense now." He grinned suddenly, saying, "if I go blind you can lead me around, Schuldig, and steer me into obstacles."

"It would be instructive to see which ones you would know to avoid," said Schuldig. "You could not foresee them all, I am sure."

"Console yourself, then, with the happy thought of me barking my shins on the furniture," said Crawford. He took out his handkerchief, wiping his forehead. "Pah!" he ejaculated. "This is hot work, Schuldig. May I have some water?"

"As you ask so nicely--" said Schuldig, descending once more and filling a cup from the flask that stood on the gold-covered platform. "We're running low," he mused. "Still, no doubt Nagi will bring more soon." Climbing the ladder once more he passed the cup to Crawford, who drank thirstily and handed the cup back. Schuldig smiled at him, intending to say that he should take a rest, and sit with him to eat some food for it had been a long time since they had eaten, when he paused and frowned.

"What is it?" asked Crawford, looking as if he wished to turn his attention back to his work.

"Someone is coming," said Schuldig. "And it isn't Farfarello or Nagi. I'll absent myself."

"Schuldig," said Crawford quickly. "Can you not be pleasant? Whether I can persuade him to our views, or whether he goes back to report on us, I would far prefer that he found you congenial company. He is sorry to have offended you."

"He thinks me your pet," said Schuldig with a cheerful smile. "I can be as congenial as you please, and he'll still consider me a trained dog. Don't worry, I won't be rude. I've been better trained than that." So saying, he climbed back down the ladder, and was standing, ruminatively weighing the water-flask in his hand when Micah entered. "-- and I do not think that Nagi has drawn water for us," said Schuldig, as if no other topic of speech had been between Crawford and he. "You need more. I won't be long, Crawford." He nodded to Micah, adding, "I'll get enough for everyone."

Micah watched him leave, then turned his attention to Crawford, looking up at his precarious perch.

"Should you not have someone to hold the ladder?" he asked, moving to do just that.

"It has been wedged by the lid Nagi moved," said Crawford. "It should be quite secure."

"Well," said Micah mistrustingly, "if you are sure--" He let go of the ladder and stood, looking at the great painting. "Have you deciphered this to your satisfaction?"

"It will taken me a little more time," replied Crawford, not allowing himself to become distracted. "Let me work a little longer, and I can come down to you. I want to have something to eat." After but a few minutes more work he kept his word, coming down the ladder and wearily rubbing at his eyes. "Schuldig fears I'll go blind," he said smiling. "He doesn't stop to consider that maybe the pleasure I gain from my efforts would be recompense enough."

"I'd have to agree with him," said Micah, stooping to unwrap the food Crawford had brought with him, a large flat cake of the native grain that Crawford had baked in their fire earlier.

"There's more than enough for two," said Crawford companionably, restraining himself from laughter as he saw how Micah did not make his views on Crawford's culinary abilities known. He took a piece of the cake from the man and ate it stoically.

"I'll be happy to eat other food again," said Micah, nibbling at the portion he had taken. "Not that your attempts are as foul as those of Farfarello."

Crawford laughed, saying, "You are much better than all of us, Micah. We should persuade you to do all the cooking."

"I'm content to take my turn," said Micah. "You do not, I'm sure, wish to see me do all the menial work?"

"No, of course," murmured Crawford, seeing how a small frown flitted across the other man's face. "Come," he said, changing the subject, "let's sit, and plan out what we shall do next." Sitting by Micah, he quickly expounded his plan to leave the palace once he had finished with his study of the painting, and to begin digging once they had correctly identified the site of the great temple.

"What do you think we'll find?" asked Micah, once Crawford had stopped talking.

"Who knows? Information that might prove useful, I very much hope," said Crawford. "That is, of course, what I was sent here to obtain," he continued, casting a sidelong glance at Micah, who nodded politely. "Items merely of monetary worth could no doubt be used for our own purposes," said Crawford, watching Micah's face carefully. "We may all yet be rich with Martian gold, Micah!"

"That would be pleasant," laughed Micah.

Crawford smiled in some relief to see that at least such a small suggestion to go against their masters was met with no opposition. He looked up to see Schuldig standing in the doorway, water flask in hand and a scowl upon his face. Finding himself under scrutiny, Schuldig's face became calm and polite, and he brought the flask to them.

"Your water," he said. "I think I will try to find some hint of a breeze. No doubt I will see you later."

"Stay, Schuldig," said Micah pleasantly. "Bradley was just talking of the treasures we might hope to find in the temple. Wouldn't that be good? You might find many more pretty things."

Schuldig's polite smile did not falter as he said, "It's good of you to include me in your conversation, but I'm sure you don't want to talk about the pretty toys you feel are attractive to me. Good day." So saying, he left.

"He doesn't like me much," muttered Micah.

"He's used to there just being the four of us," said Crawford. "He will get used to you with time."

"You are quick to excuse him," said Micah, though with a smile. "You are pleased to indulge him, I think."

"He's my friend," said Crawford, holding out the water.

"They're chancy friends," said Micah. He took the water and sighed. "You think I'm interfering. Truly, Bradley, I have no wish to. I don't want to distress your mind reader, but I don't want to see you distressed either. You know how volatile they can be."

"I have no complaints," said Crawford, then at Micah's raised eyebrow emended his statement, saying, " _few_ complaints." He felt disloyal to laugh with Micah, but thought that surely agreeing on such a minor thing would help put the man in an amenable mood, in which he might be persuaded to agree with Crawford on larger matters. "The end does after all justify the means," thought Crawford. "Schuldig would not mind."

"It must be good to have friends to complain of," said Micah.

"Yes," said Crawford, delighted that Micah should walk down the very path by which Crawford hoped he might be persuaded. "It is. Have you no friends, Micah?"

"I've had little opportunity to make friends," said Micah. "I have never had the fortune to be part of a team, as you have. I have also not stayed in one place long enough to have more than acquaintances. The longest I have ever been in one place was in India, where I had employers and work mates, not friends. The English were queerly disinclined to invite me to their houses - as were the Indians." He quirked a smile, continuing, "but that is the world, is it not? At least _our_ people don't think like that." He paused, looking almost shyly into Crawford's eyes. "You don't think like that, do you, Bradley?" he asked.

"Of course not!" cried Crawford. "I cannot help how I may have thought as a child - we are all formed by those who teach us, after all. But I have learned better, Micah. Far better," he said fervently. "You must believe I have a horror of servitude, and would see no man bound in such a way."

"Perhaps our abduction has borne some beneficial fruit," said Micah, "if we can be friends again. For we would not have been friends as men, would we, Bradley, if we had never left Virginia?"

"I suppose not," said Crawford, then, "no. We would have conformed ourselves to the world's views. But I do not give a fig for what the world considers proper and very much hope we are to be friends now, Micah."

"That is what I hope for," said Micah. "When I heard you were alive," he went on, "I was so angry with you! Is that not very queer?"

"When did you find out?" asked Crawford.

"Some years ago. I did not know while I was being trained, for although the example of students up in the Schloß was held up to inspire us to greater efforts, no name was ever attached to the stories we heard. I was back in Germany, and I admired some items that were housed in the library. Imagine my surprise to hear that a Herr Crawford had brought them out of Egypt!"

"They allowed you in the library?" asked Crawford.

"Why not? Am I not one of their great successes? Besides, I taught in the Schloß for a period of time."

"You taught in the _Schloß_?" asked Crawford, taken aback as he remembered the instructors and how he and all other students had walked in fear of them and the torments they daily inflicted.

"Yes, giving instruction on the political situation in India and the native tongues," said Micah casually. "We can't be left out of the Great Game, after all."

"No, of course," murmured Crawford, treading down his unease.

"I don't know why I was angry with you," said Micah suddenly. "Please believe that I'm not any more. We neither of us can be blamed for being apart so long. When I saw you all I wanted was to declare myself and be your friend once more." He smiled ruefully, continuing, "Although I would have preferred not to have been knocked out by Schuldig! Perhaps our superiors will assign me permanently to your team! Would that not be good?"

"Yes," said Crawford, keeping his surprise from his face. "Would you truly like that?"

"Of course! How could the world stand against two Crawfords?" laughed Micah.

"How, indeed?" said Crawford. "We'd have it kneeling in submission before us quicker than any man could blink."

"That's the spirit!" said Micah, seeming glad to no longer be speaking of matter of his past. "And it will be better for all when we do. All the stupidities of the world swept away - and we are the men to do it, Bradley."

"None better, none better," agreed Crawford.

"Come," said Micah, "let's get out of here for today. It's hot and too airless. You may not go blind, but you will surely have a terrible headache if you stay longer. You can finish deciphering this tomorrow."

Crawford cast a longing glance at the painting. "I really should finish at least the section I was working upon," he said. "It will not take more than another hour, then I'll gladly seek fresher air."

"I don't know if I can stay here another hour," said Micah. "I'll stay a little, then leave you to your notes." So saying, he rose, and arranged the water flask and what remained of the cake Crawford had made so that they would be more easily in reach when Crawford should come down once more from the ladder. Then, having ensured that the candles were fresh in the lanterns, he left Crawford to work. Crawford, for his part, laid his hand flat upon the painting and, being assured he was indeed alone, rested his brow against the smooth stone. "He was an instructor in the Schloß," he thought. "An _instructor_. No, it was only for a short time, he said so, and only to report on what he had himself seen. He was not as were the real instructors. He cannot be." He sighed deeply, and looked up at the painting stretching high above him. "I cannot tell Schuldig this," he thought. "Not yet." Thinking that he could at least work, and seek distraction therein, he took up his notebook, and climbed up the ladder once more.

  
Nagi took his hat from his head and fanned himself with it in exhaustion. He felt quite annoyed that he had found no inscriptions at all, not even the slightest mark. "Perhaps I have not come far enough," he thought. "I am sure that writing on the painting must have marked out something of interest, after all. I can't go back yet without something good to tell Crawford of." He cast a glance at the sky, wondering how the sun had got so low, and deciding he would search just a little longer before returning to the campsite. "Perhaps they will release the _dov_ ," he thought, "and mine will come to find me, and I can ride back. That would be pleasant!" With such thoughts in his mind he wandered further into the jumbles of rocks, now and again making stones that appealed to his boyish likes float upward into his hand. All were mere stone, however, no matter how the evening sun made them gleam like gold. "I'm hungry," he thought at last, "and tired. I want dinner. I'll go back." He turned and retraced his steps as best he might before admitting he had gone wrong and was lost.

"Bah!" he ejaculated. "Schuldig will laugh at me."

Disconsolately he sat upon a rock, wondering how he might regain the camp without attracting undue attention. "No," he thought, "I doubt that I can. I must be found, like a little boy who has foolishly become lost, rather than returning by myself as a man should."

Hearing the shifting of stones behind him, Nagi turned. Micah was picking his way down a slope towards him. Nagi felt some relief that it was Micah who had found him, for the man, thinking Nagi younger than his years might not be so mocking as would Schuldig. He rose to his feet, essaying a shy smile as Micah approached.

"There you are," said Micah. "I was wondering where you might be. What a desolate and isolated spot you picked!" He smiled down at Nagi in a friendly way, putting a hand upon the boy's arm. "In truth I'm glad to find you by yourself," he said. "There are some things I've been meaning to discuss with you. The others won't expect us back for a while. Come, let's find somewhere we can sit in some comfort and talk, man to man."

Pleased not to be treated as a small child who had been naughty, Nagi nodded silently, restrained himself from rudely shaking off Micah's hand, and walked obediently further up the gully with his smiling companion, watching how their shadows were thrown out, long and distorted before them.


	35. Chapter 35

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
Coming away from his labours at last, Crawford climbed back to the surface and stood a moment in the cool evening breeze, mopping his face, before trudging back to the camp, where he found Farfarello lighting the fire.

"Another hunting expedition wouldn't hurt," said Farfarello, glaring at the provisions laid ready beside him. "I'm getting very tired of dried meat."

"We should get more food, you're right," said Crawford distractedly. "Well, do what you can with that tonight. Where is everyone else?" he continued, for he could see no one but Farfarello.

"Sleeping Beauty is awaiting the arrival of the prince," said Farfarello, waving in the direction of Crawford and Schuldig's tent. "Allow me, Your Highness." So saying he plucked up a flask and loped off to the tents, ducking inside. There was a scream of rage, and Farfarello emerged once more at high speed, followed by Schuldig, pushing wet hair back from his face.

" _Dummkopf!_ " he yelled, and, seeing Crawford, cried, "He poured water over me! The blankets are soaked! I don't want to be sleeping in a damp patch tonight, Crawford!"

Although he often found some amusement in the more harmless pranks they pulled upon each other, Crawford found he could not summon a smile for either of them. "Where is Nagi?" he asked, "And Micah?"

"How should I know?" retorted Schuldig, "I have been asleep."

"I haven't seen Nagi for hours," said Farfarello. "Micah said he'd find him."

"Good," Crawford said, keeping his voice even. "I don't want him running around without one of us to make sure the _dov_ don't eat him. I think I'll find them," he said. He walked to the tent he and Schuldig shared, and retrieved his rifle. "Perhaps I'll have a chance to shoot one of the wild sheep, Farfarello."

"Oh, let Micah bring him back," said Schuldig. "No doubt he's telling Nagi what fun it would be to go to Schloß Rosenkreuz - do you really want to subject yourself to hearing that all the way back? Come and see the mess Farfarello has made of _your_ blankets." He tugged on Crawford's arm, smiling.

"Perhaps you're right," said Crawford. "I'll just climb to the top of the valley side first. The light's beginning to fade, I want to see if they're on their way back."

"Such a fusspot," laughed Schuldig. "You should be glad to enjoy my good mood." He paused, still smiling. "You're hiding something. What is it?"

"Nothing," said Crawford. "I've just had a tiring day, that's all."

"You'll be more tired if you keep up those defences," said Schuldig. "Come now, let me see, I won't complain _too_ much if you are planning to make me dig." He clung to Crawford, saying, "You know I don't like it when you have secrets from me."

Crawford looked at him in distress, and saw he was in one of his more stubborn moods and would not be dissuaded. Bowing to the inevitable, he let down the walls about his mind. "It's something Micah said," he said. "He told me he had been an instructor in the Schloß. I don't know what it means that they would send someone who had been assigned to the Schloß to oversee us. He acted as if it were quite normal. Probably it was just that he knew me, and we should not be concerned."

"He's an instructor in the Schloß?" said Schuldig, the smile fading from his face. He stood there, looking all of a sudden young and lost. "But we have been leaving him alone with Nagi," he said blankly. He looked over at Farfarello and back at Crawford, the blankness in his face becoming rapidly replaced with anger. "How long have you known this?" he asked.

"Since this afternoon only," said Crawford. "Don't look at me like that! I am not lying to you, I did not know. Don't be so over-anxious, Schuldig, what do you think he'd do to the boy? He is on his best behaviour with us."

"I can see you think that," said Schuldig insolently, letting his gaze flick to the rifle and back to Crawford's eyes. "Farfarello! How long since you saw Micah?"

"I'm not sure," said Farfarello. "An hour, perhaps."

"An hour," said Schuldig flatly. He turned about, muttering, "I'll bring him home." He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration, murmuring, "Where are you, Nagi? Ah!" He looked over at the hillside, his eyes narrow.

"Schuldig," said Crawford, seizing his arm, "there's no need to be upset, I haven't seen anything --"

"Upset?" said Schuldig softly, turning a face set in fury on Crawford. "You _fool!_ " With that he shook himself free of Crawford's grasp, and was gone, sprinting away from the camp.

  
* * *

  
"Here is a good spot," said Micah, indicating a low flat-topped boulder. "We'll be comfortable here." He sat and smilingly tugged gently at Nagi's arm until the lad sat by him, peering at him quietly through his fringe, which had become long and unkempt over the course of the journey. "How peaceful this place is," said Micah, "and the heat is more pleasant at the end of the day. Nagi," he said, "I've been wanting to talk with you privately for some time."

"Oh," said Nagi, seeing that some response was expected.

"Yes," said Micah. "I want to know all about you. You're a clever boy, and I like clever boys. You're very good at moving things. I've never seen anyone as good as you." He smiled wider at the pleased expression that flitted across Nagi's face. "Can you lift that rock?" he asked, pointing at a rock that weighed as much as several heavy men.

"Yes," said Nagi, lifting it. Acting on a sudden whim, he spun it around and put it down upside-down.

"Well done!" said Micah, clapping. "Of course, now that I think about it, you moved that great lid over the well. That must have been heavier - but I'm very pleased to see you have enough control to move things so precisely. Can you lift several things at once?"

"Oh yes," said Nagi confidently. "Crawford and the others have given me a lot of practice doing that. Throw some stones at me and I'll show you!"

Micah jumped to his feet and gathered up several handfuls of stones of varying sizes, tossing them at first singly, and then in whole handfuls at Nagi, who stopped them in mid-air, letting them hang before his face.

"Good boy!" cried Micah. "How hard can you throw them?"

Nagi pursed his lips and frowned. One of the stones suddenly veered off, striking against a rock and sending chips of stone flying into the air.

" _Good_ boy," breathed Micah. " _Very_ good." He sat by Nagi once more, saying, "You can put the rest down now."

Nagi let the stones fall, and drew up his feet so that he was perched on the rock. Micah looked very pleased with him, he thought, feeling also quite pleased with himself. He felt even more pleased when Micah withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, unwrapping it to reveal several pieces of the dried native fruits to which Nagi had taken a great liking.

"Have some," said Micah, offering the biggest, plumpest piece to Nagi. Watching as Nagi chewed it happily, he asked, "Bradley found you in Japan? When did he find you? Where?"

"I was in an orphanage," said Nagi indistinctly. "Crawford and Schuldig found me there. I travelled with them when Takatori-sama sent them places. Farfarello kept asking me if I was a Buddhist or a Christian, but Crawford made him stop." Seeing Micah's kind smile he felt emboldened to add, "I was scared at first, but that was just because I wasn't used to being only with gaijin."

"It must have seemed very queer," said Micah. "Were there any other children who could do clever things like you? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"None of the children in the orphanage were clever at all," said Nagi scornfully. He paused, then said, "I don't have any brothers or sisters, I don't think I do." He felt very sad, thinking about his family, and looked down at the ground, hoping that Micah wouldn't ask him any more questions about them.

"Perhaps you entered the orphanage too early to have clear memories," mused Micah. "How old are you, lad?"

"I -- I don't know," said Nagi, blushing. "I don't know how old I was when my mother --" he fell quiet, shame suffusing his heart.

"You're not tall and you are very slender," said Micah, "but I believe those are traits common to your people. No doubt you think us all far too large! Still, you seem quite small. Are you twelve, do you think?"

Opening his mouth to say he thought he was older, Nagi found himself wary all of a sudden, as if the studied casual way in which Micah spoke was a screen for the truth. "Perhaps," he said. "Crawford can tell you I was much smaller when he found me."

"Twelve," said Micah, studying him. "That's a little older than many of the students are taken, but it's not too old to be set in your ways. You wouldn't be very out of place in a class of new students. Tell me, Nagi, has Bradley ever spoken of sending you to Schloß Rosenkreuz to be trained?"

Feeling it impolitic to say that Schuldig had in their early days held it over him as a threat, Nagi shrugged, and said, "We have never stopped moving round. There hasn't been any time to talk about that sort of thing. Crawford is training me very well himself," he added loyally. "I wouldn't want to go away from him. He needs me."

"I'm sure he does," said Micah. "But you'd be so much more use to him if you were properly trained - oh, I don't mean to denigrate my brother's abilities, he's a very clever man and you're right to respect him - but in the Schloß you'd have a variety of trainers, and you could be sure they'd get the very most out of you that would be humanly possible. Don't you want to make sure you can do your absolute best?"

"Yes," said Nagi after a pause. "I want to be as useful to Crawford as ever I can. But--" he fell silent, embarrassed.

"Well, what is it, my lad?" asked Micah. "Come on, spit it out. Let's not have secrets between us!"

"It's just," said Nagi hesitantly, "it's just that it doesn't seem a very nice place. Didn't they treat you badly there? And Schuldig -- I know Schuldig doesn't like it."

Micah laughed cheerfully and said, "Oh, Nagi. It's true that it is not the easiest of schools, and that the teachers can be harsh with the students if the students deserve it -- but think of the benefits! The students are being trained to take their places in a great organisation, one that will change the world for the better. Don't you think that demands great strength of character? Schloß Rosenkreuz aims to eliminate weakness and silliness in a man, so that he can be truly fit to lead, and make hard decisions. I learned to be strong - and I would very much have liked to be back in the Schloß, rather than being trained elsewhere. Consider also that no schoolboy born ever liked his school, no matter how soft -- much of the cavilling you have heard from people such as Schuldig is simply the grouching of those who wish to emphasise how strong they are in having survived their training. Don't you think he really had a fine time there, and enjoyed his position as one of the strongest students? He would not be who he is today but for the training he received there." He grinned broadly at Nagi, continuing, "Surely you have seen how Schuldig loves to complain and be lazy - that is why he complains about the Schloß, because there he was required to be active, and keep his natural laziness under control."

"Schuldig works very hard when he's interested in something," said Nagi, feeling very queer to be talking so about his friend.

"No doubt," said Micah easily. " _When_ he finds something of interest. But does he not wheedle indulgences out of Bradley more often? I'll wager you do not get the same preferential treatment."

"No," said Nagi, feeling a little stung. "But that's because they're such good friends."

"And because Schuldig has had proper training," said Micah. "Bradley must feel he can depend on him when his powers are needed, and so can indulge him at other times. I have no doubt you would have the same latitude if you were fully trained."

Nagi frowned, thinking that it really wasn't fair that Schuldig got away with so much, and that he would like Crawford to be as indulgent towards him as he was towards the German. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "perhaps it would be good to be properly trained."

"Yes," said Micah. "You could learn so many useful things - your English and German would both improve immeasurably, you would learn mathematics and some engineering. Think how you could destroy things if you understood how they were first put together! You would learn science, and how to fight. You'd understand how important it is for us to succeed in our efforts to improve the world, Nagi." He looked solemnly into the lad's face, saying, "Do you find it hard to be so far from your own country and from people who look like you?"

Nagi looked down, saying, "Crawford says I shouldn't mind. He says he knows my worth, and so do Schuldig and Farfarello. He says anyone who despises another for the colour of their skin is a fool, and I should use their foolishness to my own advantage. But --" he paused, feeling very wrong. "He doesn't understand," whispered Nagi at last. "No one looks at him like they look at me. When they act like I can't understand, or I'm simple or bad, I feel so angry and unhappy." He flushed a deep red and looked timidly upwards.

Micah regarded him quietly, a queer look of sympathy in his eyes. "Don't think you are alone in such thoughts," he said at last. "Nagi, when our people are in charge, no one will think such silly things of anyone else. I promise you that. And no one in Schloß Rosenkreuz would ever consider the colour of your skin or the shape of your eyes any reason to despise you. You would be judged solely on your merits and achievements."

"Truly?" said Nagi, and receiving a nod from Micah felt quite relieved. "Please," he said, "please don't tell Crawford I said that, he'd think I was being foolish, please say you won't tell him."

"Your secret is safe with me," said Micah at once. "You can tell me anything you want, and I won't tell anyone else. You and I should be friends, Nagi, don't you think? We don't have to tell the others about our talk, or any secrets either one of us might have."

"No," said Nagi. "I won't say anything to the others about what we just spoke of, I'm good at keeping secrets, Micah."

"Good lad," said Micah. "Think about your future, think about asking for proper training. You could be put back on Bradley's team when you have been trained. He'd be happy to have you back." He paused, reaching out to stroke the fringe of hair back from Nagi's eyes. "Think also about how Bradley deserves respect, as your elder, and as one who _has_ been trained. I know he says he doesn't mind your familiar form of address to him, but in the Schloß you must make sure to always refer to him as Mr Crawford, or as Herr Crawford, depending on which tongue you are speaking. And you should refer to me as Mr Crawford, too. The instructors are very strict on the students being respectful." He smiled softly, saying, "I'll teach you as much as I can, if you like. You'd have advantages over the other new students. That's important." He tugged on Nagi's fringe, laughing suddenly. "And you'd get a much-needed haircut!"

Nagi felt buoyed up suddenly by Micah's cheer, and realised that he had not, to this point, been able to feel what the man was feeling. Pleased that he had not, as he suddenly thought, gone deaf to the feelings of those around him, Nagi opened his mouth to tell Micah that he was not just able to move and break things, but that he could, with some effort, change what people about him felt. At that very moment a wave of fury overcame him, and he felt himself snatched back off the rock. Uttering a cry of surprise and annoyance he looked up to find himself held fast in Schuldig's arms.

"Back to the camp," said Schuldig, his voice tight and angry. "Now."

"What's wrong, Schuldig?" asked Micah pleasantly. "Is dinner ready? We were enjoying our conversation so much that we didn't notice the time passing."

"Don't speak with Nagi again without supervision," said Schuldig, sliding his hands up to rest on Nagi's shoulders.

"What?" said Micah in surprise. "Are you worried I'll tell him unsuitable stories about your youth?"

Schuldig said something in German, too fast for Nagi to follow, although his tone was one of disgust and fury. Micah stood up swiftly, his face hardening into anger also. Nagi winced as he felt both men's fury, and would have stepped aside, but that Schuldig's hands were still clasped on his shoulders.

"Your mind is a sewer," said Micah icily. "Keep such filth to yourself."

" _Komm_ , Nagi," said Schuldig. "Crawford expects us back."

"Does Bradley know what kind of ideas you have?" said Micah angrily. "I'm surprised he lets you speak to this poor boy - what kind of influence are you? You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Shame?" said Schuldig. "A strange word to hear from one who happily admits to being one of the instructors --"

"Ah," said Micah. "So that is what this is about. You see?" he said to Nagi, "some bad students complain even years after they have left, simply because they hate those that held them to the high standards expected of all students." He smiled with malice at Schuldig, continuing, "Really, Schuldig. Take Bradley as your example. He was an exemplary student, and is still highly esteemed by those who helped mould him into the man he now is. You, however--" He paused, as if wondering if he should spare Schuldig's feelings before going on, "Your fecklessness and shallow-mindedness were legendary. Not, I suppose that you could help it, being what you are, and therefore tossed about by any strong influence upon you. You see," he said earnestly to Nagi, "strong mind readers like Schuldig here aren't really people as you and I would understand the term, they are dangers to themselves and others and need careful management. Though I'd have thought that being with Bradley would have made you more sensible--"

"Those that actually _know_ him and are his intimates know that Brad does not use that form of his name," said Schuldig angrily. "You don't know him--"

"I have a message for you," said Micah, seemingly having reined in his anger. "From another intimate of yours, an old friend. Herr Dorfmann asked me most specially to remember him to you. Is that not kind, Schuldig? He says he thinks of you with great fondness, and of the great care with which he trained you."

Nagi squirmed as Schuldig's fingers tightened painfully on his shoulders, and looking up he saw that the young German's face was pale and drawn. "Schuldig?" he said.

"Have you no message for him?" said Micah softly and poisonously. "Are you not glad that he still thinks of the exertions he put himself to? Don't you think you owe the man who made you what you are some response?"

"I think," said Schuldig, and Nagi was surprised to hear his voice shake. He paused and then went on, his voice growing stronger, "I think that if I am as you say, not a man but simply a danger to others, then any mind reader judged so weak as to be allowed to keep his name should be wary of what message he sends to me. And now," said Schuldig, "I think I will return to camp. Come, Nagi, we are going back to our friends." Without another word he seized Nagi's wrist and pulled him after him, walking fast back down the gully in the direction Nagi and Micah had come, leaving Micah looking after them.

"Schuldig!" cried Nagi, walking as fast as he could, for fear of being pulled over. "What is it? Why are you angry with me?"

"I'm not angry with you," said Schuldig shortly, then, in annoyance, still pulling Nagi along, "have you no sense? Don't go off with anyone else! Why did you leave the camp at all?" He looked at Nagi's hurt little face, and relented, saying more quietly, "I'm not angry with you. Look, let's just stop for a moment. What did he want with you?"

"We were just talking," said Nagi sullenly. "He thinks I should be properly trained."

"You're not going there, don't worry," said Schuldig.

"Is it so bad?" said Nagi. "I want to be useful to Crawford and you."

Schuldig looked at him quietly, then said, "They have a way of confusing one about what's important. Don't think it's a pleasant place or that they are pleasant people. Nagi, are you -- are you all right?"

"Of course I'm all right," said Nagi, "I wasn't _lost_ , I just didn't realise it was getting late."

Schuldig smiled at him, although the shadow did not lift from his eyes. He put a hand on Nagi's forehead, cupping the back of his skull with the other. "I just need to see for myself," he said. "Relax, Nagi."

Nagi whimpered as sudden pain shot through his head. "Ow!" he cried. "Why did you do that? That hurt!" He pulled away, and glared at Schuldig, thinking it was a very poor thing that the young German's mood seemed to have lightened.

"You _are_ all right," murmured Schuldig. "Oh, _Kaninchen_ , I'm sorry. You know I wouldn't hurt you if I could help it."

Nagi walked off ahead of him, thinking to show by his offended silence that he was not a little boy to be won over easily. After a little, though, as he realised how lost he had been, he meekly walked beside Schuldig, and thought very hard about how good it was to have been looked for. He was glad when Schuldig laid a companionable hand upon his shoulder, and even more glad to reach the camp and see that the food was ready and waiting. Before he could eat, however, Schuldig gave him a little push towards the tents.

"Get your blankets. You're sleeping in our tent." He looked without expression at Crawford. "There is no objection to that, I presume?"

After a moment, Crawford shook his head curtly, and Nagi ran to the tents to move his blankets, feeling all of a sudden quite satisfied with his day, although the inscriptions he had searched for had proved so elusive.


	36. Chapter 36

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
Crawford awoke, staring wearily at the white canvas of the tent above him as it was shaken by the breeze that moved across the camp site, a breeze that would by noon be hot and unpleasant but that at this early hour was still cool and refreshing. Telling himself briskly that wasting the cool hours of the morning was unproductive, he glanced at his companions, shaking his head ruefully to find that Nagi, who had, exhausted from his private expedition of the previous evening, gone to sleep curled in the corner, was now huddled between Schuldig and him. Leaning across the sleeping boy, Crawford shook Schuldig's shoulder, and was rewarded with his friend's eyes snapping open at once.

"It's morning," said Crawford quietly, and, indicating Nagi, "we seem to have a visitor."

"He'd moved when I came off watch," said Schuldig. "Why should he have to share space with your damned pots in the corner?"

Crawford frowned at Schuldig's tone, but did not argue. "Well," he said mildly, "the morning marches on; we should get up."

"It's not my turn to make breakfast," said Schuldig, twitching Crawford's hand from him. "I'll get up when it's ready and not before. Leave him alone," he continued, as Crawford put a hand on Nagi's arm. "He'll get up when I do."

Seeing that little was to be gained from opposing Schuldig while he was in such a humour, Crawford flung off his blankets and left the tent, looking at the colours streaked across the sky in the cool Martian dawn. He hoped that a while longer spent sleeping would put his friend in a better mood. "We have work to do," he told himself. "We should not allow ourselves become distracted." Finding, however, that his words did not serve to keep himself from distraction, he squatted down and disconsolately built up the fire and put water on to boil for coffee, thinking to bring a cup in to Schuldig, for he knew well his friend did not consider the day properly begun before he had swallowed at least a cup of the invigorating beverage. He looked up an instant before he heard the footfalls behind him.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," said Micah.

They looked at each other silently, Crawford thinking back to the equally silent and unpleasant meal they had all shared the night before. At last he looked back at the fire, saying, "The coffee will be ready directly. I haven't started the food yet."

"That's all right," said Micah, his voice sounding uneasy. "I am not hungry yet. I -- Bradley, we need to discuss something."

"Yes," said Crawford, rising to his feet. "We most certainly do." Looking at the other man's solemn face, he found himself unable to sustain the anger that had coursed through his frame when first Micah had spoken. Accordingly, he simply took Micah's arm and led him aside a little, thought he knew they should have only the illusion of privacy should Schuldig desire to eavesdrop. "Micah," he said in great seriousness, "why are you here? Be utterly frank with me."

"Why am I here?" asked Micah, the surprise on his face indicating he had expected another question. "To help you, as I said." He looked deep in Crawford's eyes, his own dark eyes guileless and clear before continuing, "This world is far from home, and you and your men are the only ones of our people here. I don't know the secrets of our superiors' hearts, Bradley, I don't know if they foresaw difficulties for you, or are only over-cautious. All I can say is that I was ordered here, and so I came. Was I to refuse?" He looked aside, muttering, "Though I can see I have been of but little help to you so far. That was not my intent, I assure you."

"What did they say to you? Who told you how to find us? Have you no conjectures as to why you were sent?" asked Crawford, who in no wise trusted anything that his superiors devised

"They said your journey was hazardous, and you'd most likely need another man. As to who sent me, the order came, as I was told, from the very highest of our people. I was given copies of maps that I was told you also had," said Micah. "As to my conjectures -- well, in the Schloß I kept all such thoughts far from my head. I did not wish to seem timorous or disobedient, after all. All my thoughts were of Mars - how much I read about this world! I was elated at the thought of seeing you, and did not want the assignment to go to another." He regarded Crawford sadly, saying, "But none of you have grown to trust me, not even you, and some of you attack me."

"Last night," said Crawford, "we were all on-edge, that is why --"

"Schuldig hates me," said Micah flatly. "He has made that quite clear. No doubt he influences you as well, how could he not? I cannot bring myself to repeat the vile things he said to me last night, and can only hope that Nagi's command of the German tongue is not yet good enough for him to have understood."

"He was worried about the boy," said Crawford. "He is protective of him."

"The boy was _lost_. I spent time looking for him. We were resting and talking about training before heading back to camp," said Micah, biting back an angry retort. "And Schuldig -- as I say, I will not repeat his words."

"He has little love for the instructors in the Schloß," said Crawford. "He was ill-treated by them."

"Does he think no one else was? Those that taught us outside the Schloß were no more gentle," snapped Micah. He sighed then, and in a quieter voice asked, "Why did you tell him, if you knew how badly he would take it? I would not have thought such a thing of you, Bradley. Did you hope he would lose his temper more than he in fact did?"

"Micah, no!" said Crawford. "It's just -- I suppose I was taken aback," he continued, not wanting to reveal how easily Schuldig could worm information from him. "I had never thought that you might have been considered for a teaching position there."

"Bradley," said Micah, "I taught a series of lessons on the Indian situation to the older students, and language classes to such of them as seemed destined for service there. Are the study of politics and foreign tongues so despicable to you?"

"Of course not," said Crawford, "but that's not what came to Schuldig's mind."

"He thought I meant some harm to the lad," said Micah. "But you, with your powers, you would have known if I truly did. Did you foresee such a thing?"

"No," said Crawford at once. He paused, continuing more slowly, "I was unsettled, I could have tried more strongly to restrain him." Sighing, he went on, "I'll speak to him, and persuade him to be more moderate." So saying, he turned about, indicating to Micah that they should return to the fire. "Let us start the food cooking," he said wearily. "We shall have a hard day's work ahead of us, I wish to finish with the palace today."

"Wait," said Micah, looking very ashamed. "I must be completely open with you. Volatile though he is, Schuldig's displeasure is certainly to be laid in part at my feet. I lost my temper too, Bradley, and I said things I knew would cause him pain."

"What?" said Crawford, who had had but few words from Schuldig since he had returned with Nagi the previous evening, for the young German's mood had been such that it was clear he would not be engaged in any intercourse with the others.

"I told Nagi that Schuldig wasn't really a person, and then I used Dorfmann's name against him," said Micah unhappily. "From what Dorfmann said in the Schloß when I was being told of your team, I knew Schuldig would not be happy."

"Ah," said Crawford. "No."

"There is worse," whispered Micah. "I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the look on his face. I never thought -- how have I come to be a man who enjoys giving pain?" he said in misery, his usually cheerful countenance fallen and sombre. "I should not have come here, I have distressed you all. Will I go, Bradley? I'll report you needed no help."

Crawford regarded him steadily, thinking that it would never do to let him go without being entirely sure of his report, and that if he did not keep Micah with them, he would most surely have to kill him. The thought distressed him all at once for it would be as it were a final destruction of the memories of childhood he still harboured. "Stay," he said at last, moved by Micah's unhappiness and the way in which his face lightened at that single word. "Just -- do not fight with Schuldig again, if you can help it. Don't talk about Nagi going for training, either. No, do not argue. I am sure you think the lad would be a great asset to our people, but do not argue for sending him away. He is vital to me just now, and anyway, nothing can be gained from such arguments until we have returned to Europe. Please, no more talk of sending Nagi to Schloß Rosenkreuz. That will just provoke Schuldig."

"I'm sorry," said Micah. "He and I seem to have antagonised each other from the first." He looked past Crawford, saying, "If looks could kill -- and with a mind reader of his strength perhaps he could make a good attempt--"

Crawford looked over his shoulder to see Schuldig looking at them, his hair wild and his gaze flat and unreadable. As Crawford watched, Schuldig turned aside, draping an arm over Nagi's thin shoulders as the lad emerged, blinking sleepily, from the tent. The two of them sat by the fire, and Schuldig busied himself in the pouring and drinking of coffee. On the other side of the fire Farfarello sat, preparing the porridge having, as it appeared no hope or perhaps no wish to see Crawford take his turn at cooking.

"It's just -- I don't know how to act around mind readers," said Micah in a quiet voice. "Civilised ones like Dorfmann are disconcerting enough. But I met another in the Schloß, Bradley, whom you may have heard of. He is called rgerlich."

"Yes," said Crawford, lifting his gaze from Schuldig's back. "He was to be given to me when my team was being formed."

"He was most voluble on the subject of Schuldig," said Micah. "He is but a young man, yet he walks slowly and with a cane, due to your friend. Schuldig was a vicious boy, it seems."

"Schuldig crippled him so he could take his place," said Crawford. "I'm sure you heard that. He tricked him into fighting a duel the night before he was to be given to me."

Micah nodded, and dropped his voice further. "This man rgerlich," he said, "he truly lives up to the name he was given. There seemed always to be a cloud of anger surrounding him. He would dearly love to meet with Schuldig again, even after all these years, and pay him back. A most unsettling young man." He paused, then said delicately, "How does Schuldig live up to his name? What did he _do_ , Bradley, for them to name him so?"

"He has proven himself to me, time and again," said Crawford quickly, wishing to impress upon Micah how high Schuldig stood in his regard. Unbidden, the memory rose in his mind of Schuldig in Egypt crying out in the heat of his fever that he was sorry. "He is my friend," he said. "My friend."

"I know," said Micah, "and I am ashamed to have caused you grief by fighting with him. But Bradley," he said. "He isn't simply a mind reader, he's one of those that must be kept on short leashes. There was one in the Schloß, that I never saw but only heard spoken of in whispers. A thirteen year old girl kept away from all others. Do you know what they call her? No? _Hungrig_. She eats men's minds - they lost several handlers before it was deemed safer to keep her drugged and locked away, and even now no one touches her with bare hands."

"Would it not be better and safer to put her down?" asked Crawford in surprise.

Micah shrugged. "She's strong. They think children from her might be trainable." He looked seriously at Crawford, murmuring, "It was with such ideas about strong mind readers that I have been dealing with Schuldig. I don't _like_ them, Bradley. I know such a prejudice is irrational and should be stamped out in myself. Especially as he is your dear friend. That you find him charming and his company pleasurable, I have no doubt. I'm sorry to have been such a fool in my speech with him."

"Oh, he can be provoking when he wants," said Crawford, thinking it was not so queer to be alarmed by one of Schuldig's abilities if one had in one's head examples such as Micah had spoken of. He forced himself to smile, continuing, "Come and have breakfast, and let us all be friends once more." He led Micah back, calling out in thought, "Schuldig! I want you to be on your best behaviour. He is sorry." Schuldig's shoulders tensed, but he made no reply. Reaching the fire, Crawford poured a cup of coffee for Micah, saying casually, "I am quite sure I will be finished with that painting today, and then we can start digging for the temple. I know you all are looking forward to that."

"Huh," said Farfarello. " _Some_ people will be complaining about the blisters on their lily-white hands." He grinned impishly across the fire.

Schuldig spooned up his porridge and said nothing, even when Crawford patted his shoulder. Micah laid down his cup and, clearing his throat nervously, stepped towards Schuldig.

"Schuldig," he said, "My temper is much cooler this morning, and I very much regret having offended you. Will you accept my apologies?" He held out a hand, which Schuldig regarded as if it were a serpent.

"You want to shake my hand?" asked Schuldig calmly. "I who am not more than an animal to you?"

"I was intemperate," said Micah. "Truly, I am sorry. If you will not accept my apology for itself, will you not do so for the sake of he whom I call brother and you call your friend?" He kept his hand out, a hopeful expression upon his face.

Schuldig stood slowly, looking at him, and then at Crawford, as if to make it clear that he was being obliging, before clasping the other man's hand in a firm grip. "We were both intemperate," he said. "Let us put this behind us."

Micah smiled happily, and Schuldig easily found it within him to smile also. The two of them stood amicably, showing by their clasped hands that enmity was behind them, albeit for the sake of Crawford. Crawford himself looked very satisfied, and Nagi heaved a sigh of relief that no one was fighting any more, taking the opportunity afforded him by his elders' goodwill and inattention to seize more of the dried fruit than was strictly his share, for the lad still felt the effects of Schuldig's influence and was eternally hungry.

"Farfarello," thought Schuldig, seeing with approval that the Irishman did not start or look in his direction.

"What?" replied Farfarello in like manner, blowing on his coffee and drinking it without complaint.

"I refuse to trust or accept him. I am going to kill this man. Can I count on your aid?"

Farfarello served himself another bowl of porridge, spooning sugar and the dried native fruit onto it and eating it with a calm expression.

"Give the word," he thought.


	37. Chapter 37

_The ruined city, 1880_

The last day of work in the palace progressed smoothly, with Crawford putting the finishing touches to his interpretation of the painting, and the others engaged in drawing up water and accounting for every item they had taken from the various chambers. When they broke to eat at midday, there was no bickering, nor did anyone fail to be anything but polite and courteous.

"If we are celebrating the ending of a stage in our work, perhaps we might have some of the jam?" asked Farfarello, gnawing on the piece of unleavened bread he had been given. "I'd like some butter too, if only the heat would not have turned it rancid long since."

"Why not?" said Crawford, glad to see everyone so quiet and docile. "Nagi, run to the stores and fetch out a small pot." He smiled to see the lad's eager obedience. "Let us hope he doesn't eat it all himself on the way back," he said.

"Growing boys are always hungry," said Micah with a laugh. "How the lad stays so slender I do not know, for he eats a tremendous amount."

"He takes no more than his share," said Schuldig, but in so polite a tone that he could not be faulted. Inwardly, the young man was pleased indeed to see that his trick in disguising Nagi's patterns of thought was still so effective. "Pass the bread, Crawford," he said gaily. "I wish to ascertain if you baked more sand into it than usual."

"The ancients of Egypt had their teeth worn away by sand in their bread," mused Crawford. "I wonder if it is a common problem for the Martian natives?" He indulgently ignored the miming of sudden toothache Farfarello exhibited, chewing quietly upon his own share that was, he had to admit, both oddly glutinous in its core and a little sandy upon its outer edges. He was glad to see Nagi come back bearing the jam, and soon they all had spread as much as they desired upon their helpings of bread.

"This jam cost five shillings," said Schuldig, looking closely at the jar. "The shopkeeper should be shot."

"If it was brought up from Earth," said Micah, "it would be very expensive."

"Pah!" ejaculated Schuldig scornfully, "the label states quite clearly that it was made by a Martian firm. They are just thieves! How is it we spent five shillings on a pot of jam, Crawford?"

"Were you not in charge of such supplies, Schuldig?" said Crawford laughing.

Schuldig turned away with a little _moue_ of aggrievement upon his lips, though inwardly he was pleased, for he saw the amused shake of Micah's head, and thought the other man must esteem him no more than a flighty, absent-minded fool. Although he preferred people to know his true worth, Schuldig had no objection to playing the fool if such subterfuge would gain him an advantage. Accordingly he spent the rest of the meal time pretending to sulk, and combing his hair, to lay the seeds in Micah's head of the idea that he was but a vain and petulant creature and of no real account.

After they had eaten all the food prepared for their luncheon, they went back to work, breaking only when the evening had fallen. Crawford stretched his aching limbs, feeling very glad that he would have to make no more notes nor wrack his brains in the attempt to interpret them. He looked approvingly at the bags of golden coins the others had tied up and now stacked by the entrance to the excavations, where it was convenient to be loaded on their cart when they should at last leave, and yet did not at the present take up space amidst their supplies. He washed the dust from his hands and face and accepted a bowl of the stew Micah had made from their dried meat and other supplies, finding it altogether more palatable than the efforts of Farfarello, Schuldig or himself. Having passed some time in weary conversation, he turned aside gratefully and ducked beneath the flap of his tent. Within, Schuldig lay at his ease, hands clasped behind his head as he listened to Nagi read aloud. Crawford smiled at them both, pulling off his boots and sitting Indian-style upon his blankets. Correcting Nagi's pronunciation as the lad faltered over unfamiliar words, Crawford leaned past the boy to put a hand upon Schuldig's breast.

"Let us send Nagi back to his own tent," thought Crawford, receiving at first no answer but Schuldig's blue gaze sliding towards him.

"He stays," replied Schuldig finally, in like manner.

"Are we never to be alone?" thought Crawford good-naturedly. "It is all right, Schuldig, surely you can see that? No harm will come to him."

"He _stays_ ," thought Schuldig with such vehemence that Crawford winced. "If you find his company so objectionable, go and sleep in the other tent yourself."

Perplexed that Schuldig's earlier good humour had been replaced so by irritableness, Crawford essayed to lighten the atmosphere, thinking cheerfully, "Well, can he at least not sleep between us?"

"He's safe and can't wander away if he is between us," thought Schuldig. "He stays there as well."

"Shall I read on?" asked Nagi happily, having come to the end of a chapter. He looked between them, expecting some kind of response.

"Why are you in such a queer mood?" asked Crawford in their silent communication. "He's not a baby to be molly-coddled. Have you forgotten he is older than he looks? Don't treat him like a little child."

"Crawford, shall I read on?" asked Nagi again.

"Better for him to be treated as a child than to be forced to grow up as fast and as hard as we," thought Schuldig, his face set with anger.

"Schuldig?" asked Nagi, looking from one to the other of them with dawning worry. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," said Crawford shortly. "No more reading tonight, Nagi." He threw off his jacket and lay back, glaring at the canvas above him. After a few minutes of tense silence he drew off his spectacles, putting them carefully in their lacquered case and sighing as Nagi curled against him. "Schuldig," he thought, "why are you in such a foul mood?" There was no reply, and when he looked over, squinting to see clearly, Schuldig was curled up facing away from him, quite obviously feigning sleep. "Oh," thought Crawford in irritation, "he thinks no one works as hard as he or is as fatigued. Exhaustion is not excuse for such insolence." Peering over again, he thought peevishly, "Are you listening? We are all tired, but we make an effort at civilised behaviour." Then he turned over and did his best to fall asleep.

For his part, Schuldig lay quietly, wondering why he had been rude to Crawford. "I should be more temperate and not take out my anger on him," he chided himself, continuing, "I do not want him to suspect anything. And he does not want to put Nagi in any danger; I should not have acted as if he did. Oh, blast it, I shall find some way to apologise tomorrow if he is still annoyed." So thinking, he pulled the blankets over him and fell asleep in truth.

Nagi awoke the next morning feeling chilled. Sitting up, he discovered that Schuldig had stolen most of the blankets during the night, and that he and Crawford had gone against their usual manner of sleep, and were each facing away from the other, leaving Nagi almost completely without blankets in the middle. Stealthily, Nagi crept out of the tent, wondering if he were to blame for his older friends' disagreement of the previous night. He decided he would bring them in their breakfast, to see if they were in better humours, but stopped still as he saw Micah sitting by the fire, having coaxed it into enough life to boil water for coffee thereon. Nagi felt all at once tense, as if he were readying himself for a great effort. He was not sure of Schuldig's reasons, but he knew he should heed the German's warnings about Micah.

"Good morning," said Micah. "I have the grain soaking for the porridge. It's not really as tasty as porridge made with oats, is it? But it shall have to do!" He indicated the cart with a nod of his head. "Perhaps you could fetch that open jar of jam? It will become mouldy in this great heat unless we finish it up. Do you like jam on porridge?"

Nagi nodded wordlessly, and skirted the fire to fetch the jam from the cart. He started as, with a scurrying motion, one of the _dov_ came from behind some rocks and butted its great head against him. Then he smiled, for he recognised it as his favourite, and scratched its thick neck while it closed its eyes in pleasure.

"Are you tempting death again?" said Farfarello behind him, and Nagi relaxed still further, feeling as if he had let go of everything around the camp.

"He likes me," said Nagi.

"He likes seeing you get fattened up!" laughed Farfarello. "Here, what are you looking for in there?"

"The jam," said Nagi, leaning against the _dov_. "Micah wants it for the porridge."

"Does he, now?" said Farfarello. "Then let me find it. Ah, here you are." He handed the jar to Nagi, saying, "Well, give it to him. Let him cook if he wants to."

"What's going on?" asked Nagi suspiciously.

"Nothing," said Farfarello, as innocently as a choirboy. "I'll be glad to eat something that doesn't taste like it was swept from the floor." He said no more, so Nagi left his side, bringing the jam over to Micah, who thanked him politely.

"Could I learn to read minds in the Schloß?" said Nagi suddenly.

Micah looked up at him in surprise. "There's no point in discussing that now," he said. "We are very far from Germany. And why would you want to do such a thing?"

"It might be useful," muttered Nagi, resolutely not looking over at the tent shared by Crawford and Schuldig.

"Ask Schuldig to tell you the drawbacks," said Micah. He smiled suddenly, his teeth gleaming whitely, continuing, "But don't tell him I said so! Come, let's discuss better things, such as whether you want fruit instead of or as well as jam on your breakfast."

"Oh, both," said Nagi at once, then blushed to seem so greedy. "I need to have two cups of coffee first," he said, clarifying, "for Crawford and Schuldig. They're very tired."

With a little smile, Micah poured coffee into two of the tin cups, and held them out for Nagi to take. The lad carried them carefully across to the tent, using his abilities to open the tent-flap, ducking inside at once. Once standing over his friends, he carefully poked at them again with his abilities, until they woke up.

"Look!" said Nagi, "I have coffee for you!"

Crawford sat up, rubbing at his eyes. "Thank you," he said, accepting a cup. "We must start digging for the temple today," he said, watching as Nagi persuaded Schuldig into a sitting position and pressed the cup of coffee into his hands. "You'll be needed to move sand, Nagi, and you, Schuldig, for work with a shovel and pick."

"How I wish we were out of this damned desert," said Schuldig, blowing on the coffee to cool it. "I never wish to see sand again as long as I may live." He took a long draught, emptying the cup.

"Breakfast is almost ready," said Nagi. "Micah is putting jam in the porridge--"

"Has he been bothering you?" asked Schuldig, suddenly fully awake. "What did he say?"

"Nothing," said Nagi. "He just asked if I wanted jam or fruit." He blushed at Schuldig's sharp look, and was sure everything he and Micah had said was known. "I have to go," he said, and ducked from the tent once more.

"There's nothing to worry about," said Crawford quietly. "I haven't seen anything."

Schuldig turned to him and, thinking that he should give Crawford no reason to suspect him of planning anything, smiled brightly. "No doubt you are right," he said, and crawled over to embrace Crawford. "I cannot stand the way that man makes such free use of your name," he muttered petulantly.

"Should brothers not use each others' Christian names?" asked Crawford indulgently.

"Bah!" ejaculated Schuldig, pleased to see that Crawford thought only that he had to be humoured and kept in a better mood. "Your brother! Do you really believe that?"

"It's not impossible," murmured Crawford. "If you are jealous, you know you can use my name too."

"I'll keep using it in private," said Schuldig, preventing Crawford from searching for his spectacles. "It's no one's business but ours that way."

"You seem in a better humour this morning," said Crawford, giving up the struggle and letting Schuldig kiss him.

"I am," said Schuldig, a wide smile breaking forth upon his narrow face as he saw no suspicion but only amusement in Crawford's eyes. "We don't have to go to breakfast right away, do we?"

"Not right away," laughed Crawford, relinquishing all hope of seeing more than the smallest of shares left to them.

  
* * * * *

  
"Here!" cried Crawford, stopping his pacing and planting a stake in the sand. He looked back along the line he had come, drawing the string tight, and looking at its angle between the two stakes. Consulting his notes, he waved Farfarello a little to the right, the young Irishman obediently shifting his stake and the twine a few inches. At last Crawford was satisfied, and he looked over the immense area he and the others had delineated with stakes and twine.

"It's a damned large area to dig," said Schuldig's voice in his mind. Crawford grinned, mentally picturing Schuldig hard at work. "Tcha!" hissed Schuldig, giving his mental ejaculation more force by means of an extravagant and obscene gesture from where he stood, supporting a stake.

Indicating they should meet together, Crawford gathered the others in the shade of a series of low walls, all of them crouching down to avoid the rays of the sun. "There should be a series of inner courtyards," he said, "with the temple proper constructed around them. Let us start at the outside and work our way in."

"Are you not putting undue faith in the truthfulness of the painting?" asked Micah dubiously. "Perhaps it is only symbolic in its representation."

"It correlates well with the evidence from Egypt," said Crawford. "I have combined what I have learned from the painting in the palace with what I discovered in the City of the Horizon of the Aten. At any rate, we will achieve nothing by sitting here! Up, gentlemen, it is time to work."

"It just seems fantastic to claim there can be any real connection between the ancients on Earth and those of Mars," said Micah, "but if you say so, I shall believe you. You are the expert here, Bradley."

"I was also in Egypt," said Schuldig evenly. "And although I am no historian such as Crawford, I can say the royal persons in the art we saw there were most singular in appearance and unlike the usual manner in which the Egyptians were drawn. It was as if the artist, scarce knowing how to proceed, had done his best to show the natives of Mars."

"You think the pharaohs of Egypt were Martians?" laughed Micah. "You have a fine imagination, my friend!"

"I can only say what I saw," muttered Schuldig, flushing. He became calmer as Crawford put a hand over his.

"He's right," said Crawford. "At the very least we can say that the ancient heretic who had that city built in the desolate waste did not look in any way like his subjects."

Schuldig smiled at such public vindication, and plucked up one of the water flasks from beside Nagi. After taking a refreshing drink, he leapt to his feet, saying, "Let us get to work then! Nagi, you will remove the sand for us, won't you?"

"Yes," said Nagi, eager to be of use and to keep Schuldig in this good humour. "Where shall I start, Crawford?"

"I want to delineate an area in which you are to work with more twine," said Crawford. "We shall do this in a scientific manner."

"Oh, can we not simply attack the most likely spot with our tools, just you and I?" laughed Schuldig. "It had good effects before."

"You can help me now," said Crawford with a smile, handing him a ball of twine and more stakes. "Come on. You others, rest till we are done."

Accordingly, the other three sat back in the shade, watching Schuldig and Crawford set up stakes and run twine between them. Nagi hugged his knees and thought how much happier they both looked as they smiled at each other and laughed at things he could not hear.

"How avidly the lad watches them," murmured Micah, settling his hat more comfortably upon his head. "He is still young enough not to appreciate the chance to rest in the midst of work."

"He is very fond of them both," said Farfarello. "No doubt he wishes to be running about on some errand for them." He rested his head against the stone that was, though well-shaded, still hot. Closing his eye he said, "They will call us when they want us."

"What is it like, not feeling pain?" asked Micah suddenly, wincing as he laid an unwary hand upon the stone.

"Useful," said Farfarello, smiling slightly.

"I've had times when it would have been useful indeed," said Micah with a little laugh.

"Everyone thinks it would be useful to be like me at times," said Farfarello. He opened his eye and turned to smile beatifically at Micah, continuing, "But I do not think anyone would like it. You are all far too used to feeling things - it is not just pain I am incapable of feeling. I do not mind, I can scarce remember anything else, but most men would be made unhappy by such a lack of sensation, I believe."

"But you feel this, don't you?" asked Nagi, turning and poking Farfarello hard in the arm with a thin little finger.

"I feel the slightest of pressures," said Farfarello. "Barely anything. Try harder, Nagi!" He laughed as the boy willingly hit him on the arms and body. "No, nothing," he said. "They did their work well in the Schloß!"

"It is their work?" asked Micah in interest. "It is not something you were born with?"

"No," said Farfarello, catching Nagi and wrestling him to the ground. "They thought at first I was an oracle, like Crawford." He grinned, going on, "though they decided at last I was just mad. But by then they had carried out many tests to see if the visions could be controlled, or at least brought on more readily. Nagi here was very impressed by seeing the use of electricity on the ship that brought us to Mars, but I've been used to electricity from a very young age."

"What did they do?" asked Nagi breathlessly, trying to squirm free.

"They put it through my head," said Farfarello, punctuating his speech with pokes and tickles that made Nagi gasp and squirm more. Relenting, he let the lad up and laughed at his indignant, flushed face. "And it didn't even effect the visions," he said complacently.

"You do have visions?" asked Micah.

"Delusions," said Farfarello easily, not seeing why he should speak further of something so private. "I am mad."

"You seem sane enough," said Micah.

"Do I?" said Farfarello, "Perhaps I have caught sanity from the others like, as it were, a cold. They are not religious men, it is easy to seem sane in their company. I'm a little different in the company of men of the cloth."

"Ah," said Micah, "the priest in New London."

"Yes," grinned Farfarello. "That was fun."

"It was very silly," said Nagi solemnly, looking as if he would next wag a finger under Farfarello's nose.

"I promise not to kill any more priests till we are back in the city," said Farfarello. "Will that do?"

Nagi's response was cut short by Crawford waving and calling him over. He at once left the shade, catching up his water flasks and running over, where Farfarello and Micah watched him give water to both Crawford and Schuldig and then, on Crawford's instructions, begin to pace slowly between the cords they had staked out, the sand lifting itself up from before him to be deposited on the far side of the stakes. Every so often the lad stopped to drink water, or to mop his brow, before continuing with his task.

"I hope we're in the right place," said Micah mildly. "The poor boy would be so disappointed else."

Farfarello laughed briefly, imagining the expression that Nagi would wear if they were indeed in the wrong place. "Ah," he thought, "Nagi would think the world had somehow played him false rather than consider that Crawford's calculations were wrong!" He squinted against the glare of the sun, seeing Schuldig suddenly drop full length and peer into the wide trench Nagi had created. Crawford turned and beckoned to them, and at the same time Farfarello heard within his mind Schuldig's voice saying, "Bring the shovels. It is too bad, Nagi has uncovered enough for us to start work before it gets altogether too hot." Accordingly, Farfarello stood and stretched, then bent to pick up the shovels.

"Let us go to work," he said to Micah. "It seems there is to be no more rest for the wicked."


	38. Chapter 38

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
As enough sand had been cleared away through Nagi's efforts to allow careful work with the shovels to begin, the young men were soon employed in that endeavour, while Nagi ran between them offering water. Crawford smiled in exhaustion at Schuldig, thinking that it was a relief that whatever queer mood had seized the young German seemed quite gone. Schuldig quirked a smile back at him in response to his thought, pausing briefly in his labour to tie his hair back with a length of green ribbon that showed through its frayed and grubby nature that it had been put for too long to this very task. At length some very fine wall stood clear of the sand, the careful masonry showing that it was indeed part of an important edifice. Crawford ran a hand along the smooth stones, pausing as he examined what appeared to be a door, blocked with the same fine craftsmanship. "Is this a true door?" he thought, "or perhaps a false one, such as I saw in Egypt? It is of the same age as the wall itself, surely, given the workmanship of the stones." He greatly enjoyed the feel of the stone beneath his hand, knowing that he and his friends touched something that no man had seen for long long centuries, and that in all probability no man should see after, for he did not mean to leave his work to be found by others who might benefit by his discoveries.

"How will we get in?" asked Micah, mopping his brow.

"Not quite here, I think," said Crawford. "I believe this to be a false door." He looked with pleasure at the fine workmanship, and came to a decision. "We'll dig further down this section," he said, and, ignoring the groans Schuldig piteously emitted, made them all shift their positions and begin work anew.

"It is getting too late to work us like this!" cried Schuldig, plucking out his pocket watch and holding it up meaningfully. "Why do you always endeavour to wear me out, Crawford?"

"Because you are so pleasantly quiet afterwards," said Crawford with a smile. His smile broadened at the expression upon Schuldig's face. "Come now," he said, "a little more work will not kill us, and you may rest soon. For now, however, I want you to --" he paused, blinking in the bright sunlight as the queerest of sensations overtook him.

"Crawford?" said Schuldig. "Have you been struck dumb all of a sudden?"

"No," said Crawford slowly, his head feeling suddenly tight and painful. "I -- _damn!_ " he ejaculated, as the brightest of white lights flashed across his vision and a burst of pain made him gasp. When he opened his eyes once more he found that he was inexplicably lying upon the sand, with Micah bending over him, his face drawn with worry.

"Bradley?" said Micah, "can you hear me?"

"I will deal with him," snapped Schuldig, thrusting Micah aside, and slipping a hand beneath Crawford's head.

"I know what to do, he has had these spells since he was a boy," said Micah in anger.

"I have had more recent experience," retorted Schuldig, smoothing the fury from his face with, as it seemed to Crawford in his muddled state, some difficulty. "Crawford?" he said, "what did you see?" He took a flask that Nagi held out and moistened Crawford's lips.

"Sand," said Crawford. He shook his head in annoyance, wincing as the motion made him feel a little ill. "A storm," he said, feeling surer and surer with every word. "A sand storm, coming this way very fast."

Schuldig looked about them at the calm and hot day. "It seems fine."

"Schuldig," groaned Crawford. "Do not argue! If you must be persuaded, look into my mind. It is coming, I tell you, and we are in danger." He struggled up, trying not to lean upon his friend more than was absolutely necessary. "We have to get everything under cover, quickly!"

"What of our work today?" asked Farfarello, "Shall it be undone?"

"I neither know nor care," said Crawford shortly, letting go of Schuldig's arm. "Quick! The tents will not be enough shelter, we must move everything into the palace!"

"Even the cart?" asked Farfarello.

"Unless we want it lost to us, yes," said Crawford.

"Nagi," said Farfarello, "come with me, fast."

Crawford nodded grimly as the young Irishman and the lad ran towards the cart, and turned to Micah and Schuldig. "We must take down the tents. The wind will be a danger to the canvas, and I will not have my notes and artefacts destroyed or blown away." He was glad to find that neither of them sought to delay him by a moment with objections or queries, and soon the tents had been taken down, and Nagi had been given the task of moving the unwieldy canvas to the palace.

"What of the _dov_?" asked Micah quietly. "They are native creatures and as such can no doubt ride this out in a hiding place of their own?"

"I don't know," confessed Crawford. "What if they flee, or are driven wild by this? We will die without them. Let us bring them down into the palace also."

"I don't like the idea of them sniffing round in the dark," muttered Micah.

Schuldig looked sidelong at him, but said nothing, for which Crawford was grateful. Putting a hand on the German's shoulder, he said, "Will you bring them to the palace, Schuldig?"

"Yes," said Schuldig. "Send Farfarello to help me, if he is not busy." Without another word he turned away, heading to where the _dov_ lay indolently in the hot sunshine.

Crawford jogged over to their entrance to the palace, looking down into the dark opening. "Move our things further in," he said. "We know how far the sand had penetrated over the years." To his pleasure, Nagi at once obeyed, raising their belongings with great concentration on his little face and moving them out of sight. "Farfarello!" called Crawford, "let Nagi do that by himself. Schuldig wants your help with the _dov_."

"All right," said Farfarello, climbing from the hole. "We can always feed Nagi to them if they get hungry." With that he ran over to join Schuldig, leaving Crawford to snort dryly at his sense of humour.

Micah came over, carrying the very last of their belongings that he had gathered up from around the fire site. "A pity to go down into the sweltering dark when it still seems so fine up here," he said.

"Yes," said Crawford. "We still have a little time, but I want us all safe before it comes. Look, here come the _dov_." Indeed, Schuldig and Farfarello were coming over, each holding the reins of one of the great beasts in either hand, with Farfarello holding those of Micah's and their long-removed guide's _dov_ also, they and that which had drawn the cart jostling each other for position. "Good," said Crawford, indicating the entrance to the palace, "make them go in." The _dov_ showed little inclination to enter, however, looking about them with indifference and perhaps hoping in their brutish minds to gain some exercise with their riders. At last Schuldig stopped pushing at the haunches of the first of the group and glared at it in hatred.

"Stupid, stupid creatures!" he snarled in German.

At that moment Nagi appeared below, looking up at the _dov_ in pleasure. He clicked his tongue at them, as they had all been told to do, holding up his hand, and with the sudden quick movements native to them, his _dov_ wriggled down into the dark with a flick of its great tail. The others quickly followed, as if alarmed that the first should perhaps be receiving a tit-bit without them.

"They haven't eaten him, he's giggling," said Schuldig, listening intently to something none of the others could hear.

"He could have been crushed, even if they had no evil intent," said Micah, peering down at the great grey backs of the _dov_. "He should not be encouraged in such foolhardiness."

"Oh, they are but horses," said Farfarello, with a little smile. "With fangs and claws. I'll see what's left of him." So saying, he dropped into the dark. With varying degrees of reluctance, the others followed, blinking in the dimness below.

"Nagi!" said Crawford, pulling the boy to his side. "I want you. I have a task for you."

"What?" asked Nagi eagerly.

"We're going to go to the well room and get some water," said Crawford, smiling a little as the lad's face fell. "It's an important job, Nagi. Come along."

Nagi cheered up as he and Crawford left the others to sort out the _dov_ , feeling pleased indeed to have Crawford to himself even for a short while. He willingly lowered containers into the well, and drew them up again, heavy and full to the brim with cold, pure water.

"Good boy," said Crawford. "You are not too tired to move these, I hope?"

"Oh, no," said Nagi at once, and at Crawford's direction lifted up the containers and moved them carefully down to the room with the great painting, setting them by the wall furthest from the dais.

"We'll fill the last of them for the _dov_ ," said Crawford. "They will be thirsty too, I expect.

Nagi filled the last, large container carefully. "Will they drink it all?" he asked. "It's very big."

"Well, they are big, too," said Crawford. "And we do not know how long we may be required to stay down here. Let's take this back for them." He looked at the well and pursed his lips. "Nagi," he went on, "put the lid back. I don't want the _dov_ to be drawn by the scent of water and perhaps to fall into the well."

Nagi looked at him in alarm, thinking how awful it would be to be trapped in the well, with no way of escape. Would his favourite _dov_ be able to escape, he thought, or would its great claws find no purchase in the well shaft? Raising his hands, he guided the lid back to fit neatly over the shaft, a good deal more neatly than he had removed it as Micah was not present.

"I'll shut the door as well," he said, "in case they try to pull away the lid."

"A good idea," said Crawford gravely. "It is a sensible man who takes good care of his beasts." He stroked the hair back from Nagi's face, saying, "Don't worry. We shall be perfectly all right. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Of course not. I'm not afraid," said Nagi stoutly, although with a little worry, for until Crawford had taken pains to reassure him, no thought that they might not be all right had occurred to him. He looked up solemnly at Crawford, telling himself that he must not start to be babyish and to seek attention and reassurance when Crawford would be so busy. He turned his attention to the door, swinging it closed with a heavy thump. "Let's bring the water to the _dov_ now," he said, raising the container with a gesture. With Crawford lighting the way he brought it up to one of the rooms in the corridor they had first cleared, setting it down gently. Going back into the corridor, he and Crawford found Farfarello carrying his jacket in one hand, and the harnesses in which he usually carried his knives in the other.

"The damn _dov_ pushed me round and snapped some buckles," he complained. "Crawford, Nagi and I have put the cart into the first room that was large enough. Let us hope the foolish animals don't take it into their heads to explore its delights. We have moved as much as possible to the throne room. We should be comfortable enough."

"Good," said Crawford. "Ah, look, they have scented the water." He pulled Nagi to one side as a _dov_ shouldered past, sniffing the air and thrusting its bulk into the room they had vacated. "Let's get down to the others."

Nagi walked between them, feeling safer now that he was protected on either side. In the throne room he found Schuldig and Micah laying out blankets and making a cosy little camp in the centre of the room.

"Do we have enough fuel to have some hot food?" asked Farfarello, looking around them.

They all looked at one another and sighed.

"It is a rule in travel that one always forgets something," said Schuldig. "There are _some_ branches of the thorn bushes, I'm sure --"

Farfarello handed his jacket and the knife harnesses to Nagi, saying, "Here, untangle this. I'll be back quickly."

"Farfarello --" said Crawford warningly.

"Have you seen something? No? Then I will be back quickly," said Farfarello, taking up the heaviest of his knives. "We all know what Schuldig is like without his coffee!" He left speedily, leaving Schuldig glaring after him.

Nagi sat out of the way, playing with the tangle of leather straps in his hands. About him, the older men worked quietly. From all of them he felt varying degrees of concern. He sighed, and forced himself to think only of what was needed to repair Farfarello's knife harness. It was with great relief that he looked up to see Farfarello himself enter once more, bearing with him a great armful of thorn branches. Schuldig scowled at him, but Nagi felt the worry that had been nagging at him recede somewhat and be replaced with satisfaction. Farfarello was covered from head to foot with a coating of sand, and coughed when he first attempted to speak.

"The wind's getting up," he said hoarsely. "Let's have some coffee."

"We should use only what fuel is needed to boil a small pot of water," said Crawford. "We can make some porridge, and drink cold water."

"I'll do it," said Micah, seeming to Nagi to be restless and uneasy. He took some of the branches and, bringing them away from their little camp, laid them upon the floor, then fetching a pot of water and some grain before taking up some small branches in his hands and staring at them with great concentration. Little flames licked at them, and when they were properly alight he put them in with the others, soon having a small fire burning under the water. When the food was ready they all ate silently.

"I think we should shut the door," said Micah suddenly. "I don't like the idea of the _dov_ creeping round in the dark."

"The tents were less protection against them," said Schuldig, although politely. "Why should you worry about them here?"

"I have no wish to be woken in the night by them," said Micah shortly. "Bradley?"

"We'll close the door," said Crawford. "Nagi, please do so."

At once Nagi went over to the door, making it seem as if it were more difficult for him to close it than it in fact was. Coming back to the others he saw them readying themselves for sleep.

"We should get some rest," said Crawford. "At least we do not have to worry about setting watches, with the closed door and our huge guard dogs to stand between us and interlopers." So saying, he lay down on his blankets.

"Nagi," said Schuldig, indicating the spot beside Crawford, and then snuggling against the lad when he had lain down. "Good night," he said sweetly, earning some laughter from the others as the candles were extinguished.

Nagi woke in total blackness, his heart pounding. He was sure he heard a scratching at the door, and thought fearfully of the _dov_. Suppose, he thought, they were angered at not being able to get more water? They were no doubt hungry, and they knew that he and his friends were somewhere in the dark palace. The dream that had roused him clung to him, filled with fears of stifling in a small, dark space, and the _dov_ turned murderous. At first his sleepiness meant he did not notice his surroundings, and then all at once he realised that he was chilled on one side. Schuldig was not there.

"Schuldig?" whispered Nagi, feeling his worry rise as there was no answer. " _Schuldig?_ " he said again, louder.

"What's wrong?" muttered Crawford, moving closer. "It's all right. Go to sleep." He said no more, falling at once back into a deep sleep.

Nagi stared into the dark, trying to make himself see. Something had crept in while they slept, and had made off with Schuldig. It would come back and take them away, one by one until he was quite alone. Just as he thought he would burst with unhappy fear, he heard Schuldig say, "Nagi." After an instant, he realised he had heard it within his mind rather than as speech.

"Where _are_ you?" he thought, as loudly as he could.

"In the very first of the rooms beyond the throne room," replied Schuldig, his voice within Nagi's mind sounding as if he sighed. "Come on, then."

Nagi crept from Crawford's side and carefully made his way across the room, feeling sure with every step that a monster would leap out at him. On reaching the other side he felt for the doorway and slipped out, seeing all at once a faint light from beneath a door. Opening it he found Schuldig, lying wrapped in a blanket, looking at him wearily by the light of a solitary candle.

"Why are you here?" asked Nagi. "Come back to bed."

"It's too difficult to sleep there," said Schuldig. "You are a noisy brat."

"What?" cried Nagi, stung.

"Shh! Will you wake the others? Come here. Come on, I didn't mean to be rude, I'm just tired."

Nagi went over, scowling, but let himself be tugged down and wrapped in the blanket.

"You're so worried," murmured Schuldig. "You were upset before dinner, and I knew you were making me feel worried too, then you woke me with your dreams." He sighed. "It was easy enough to wall you out while I was awake, but your dreams have been creeping into my mind. If you give me nightmares, Nagi, we will all wake up screaming. I hoped that by putting stone walls between us I'd have some respite. I'm feeling very queer just now." He ruffled Nagi's hair, saying, "I'm sorry if I woke you when I got up. I'm all right, but I do wish you would calm down and let me sleep!"

"I'm not worried at all," said Nagi.

Schuldig snorted a weary laugh. "Good," he said. "And when that is true I have every intent of sending you to sleep before you can start worrying again. What's got into you?"

"Micah was worried," offered Nagi, eager to show he was not a frightened baby. "He was worried about the _dov_ , I think. He felt worse when people spoke of them."

"Huh," said Schuldig. "And then you got worried and made him more so, which made _you_ more worried, and so on, _ja_?" He paused, looking intently at Nagi. "You can feel what Micah feels?"

"Yes, sometimes," said Nagi.

"That's good to know," mused Schuldig. "It may be useful." He smiled at Nagi's quizzical look, continuing, "Never mind. We'll think about it when we are properly awake." He settled the both of them more comfortably, blowing out the candle.

"I didn't mean to give you bad dreams - but you're not upset now, are you?" said Nagi.

"Now? No, of course not. But it's as I said, when I sleep your worry gets past my defences. You keep dreaming about being trapped, and about monsters creeping into your room while you sleep." Schuldig paused, tightening his arms about Nagi, then said, "You mustn't be afraid. The only monsters here are we, your friends. We'll kill anyone who tries to harm you."

Greatly cheered by such a declaration, Nagi closed his eyes, no longer caring what might be in the dark. Only one thing could be better, he thought.

"You're regretting it's me you're with and not Crawford?" said Schuldig, sounding amused. "Well, that's nice, I must say!"

"Oh!" ejaculated Nagi, wide-awake once more, "I didn't mean --"

"Shh, shh!" chuckled Schuldig. "Don't start feeling guilty, that's the last thing I need! I'm just teasing, it's all right."

Nagi settled down again, feeling sleep creeping through his mind, and knowing Schuldig was doing it. He felt quite calm and content by the time slumber claimed him completely, and his dreams were of happy times.


	39. Chapter 39

_Tokyo, 1878_

  
"I am most heartily tired of rice," said Schuldig with a vicious stab of his chopsticks into his bowl. "Can we not eat European food, Crawford?"

"It pleases Mr Takatori to think of us eating native foods, as clumsy as children learning their table manners," said Crawford, eating neatly. "Therefore, let us amuse him, as he is necessary to our peoples' plans."

"Be damned to Herr Takatori," muttered Schuldig. "We are not zoo animals, to be stared at." He glowered at Nagi, who knelt in the corner, nervously dividing his attention between his dinner and his companions. "What are _you_ looking at?" demanded Schuldig.

"He cannot believe you are so uncouth," said Crawford easily. "Take your chopsticks out of the rice and stop complaining. We ate European food, with European silverware, only last week."

"So that Herr Takatori's cronies could marvel at his pet barbarians in their natural setting," grumbled Schuldig. "Just as when he dresses us in native attire and makes us attend those interminable plays."

"I am glad you brought that up," said Crawford, finishing his meal. "We must get ready to attend him at a play this very evening. We are to wear the best of the _kimonos_ with which he provided us, I was told."

Schuldig groaned and stabbed at his food once again. "Do not think I am unaware he has given me women's clothing," he said grimly.

"Do not be so ungrateful," said Crawford with the smallest of smiles. "You carry it very well, and he no doubt went to some expense to have one made for your tall, barbarian frame. It is very gay."

"Are you not a girl, so?" asked Farfarello, with an evil smile. "I get confused, at times."

"Oh, you are both so funny!" said Schuldig in irritation. "You will laugh so much more when I poison both of you." He rose to his feet in a swift movement. "I shall attend to my _toilette_. Any of you who want can finish up my food." So saying he strode away.

"Do you want more dinner, Nagi?" asked Crawford.

Nagi came closer, for although he was still afraid at times of his strange companions, they had done him no harm, and he greatly enjoyed having enough to eat. "Thank you, Crawford-san," he whispered, taking the proffered bowl.

"It's all right for you just to use my name when we are by ourselves like this," said Crawford gently. "It's only for others that you need put on a pretence." He patted Nagi's arm as the lad looked down shyly at the floor. "You can trust us," he said. "You should trust _me_."

"Yes," said Nagi, simply to fill the silence that seemed to require response. He ate quickly and peered round as subtly as he could to see if anyone else had left any food.

Crawford laughed and stood. "Come on," he said. "Let's make ourselves as beautiful as Schuldig is no doubt doing."

Nagi obediently followed, and did as he was requested, making sure that Crawford's _kimono_ hung properly, and stoically accepting help in return. He was not surprised that Crawford retied his sash, making it neater than he had managed himself. It was strange that someone with such large _gaijin_ hands should be so neat and precise, he thought, submitting to having his hair brushed into order.

"How is it possible that boys get their hair so tangled even when they aren't being wild?" mused Crawford, but softly and pleasantly so that Nagi knew he was not really being chided. It was queerly nice to relax and let himself be tugged slightly backwards by the pull of the hairbrush. Daringly, he let himself lean against Crawford, closing his eyes as he was not pushed away. The man had never been anything other than kind and protective, thought Nagi. It was good to be wanted, and kept safe from others. He opened his eyes as Crawford put the brush down and squeezed his shoulder. "Let's see how the others are progressing," he said. He ushered Nagi into the next room, where Farfarello was engaged in glaring at his sandals.

"These are not comfortable," said Farfarello. "They are no good for running, and I always feel as if I'll fall out of them when I'm killing."

"It's just a matter of getting used to them. Take them off, you're indoors. They think us barbaric enough," said Crawford. "Where is Schuldig?"

"I don't know," said Farfarello sullenly. "Applying his rouge, no doubt." Falling silent, the Irish youth busied himself in secreting knives about his person.

Nagi looked up as the door slid back, blinking as a _geisha_ dressed in a bright, flower-embroidered _kimono_ demurely entered. He stifled a high-pitched giggle as he realised his mistake.

"I am _not_ being seen with you like that," said Crawford, struggling not to laugh.

"I told you he was applying his rouge," muttered Farfarello.

"Pah!" ejaculated Schuldig. "Just because you have marred _your_ beauty, should I hide my light under a bushel?" He winked at Nagi. "So much powder," he mused. "I'm not sure it will ever come off."

"It had better," said Crawford, "and quickly. Mr Takatori will have an apoplectic fit. How on earth did you manage this feat?"

"I kidnapped one of the maids," said Schuldig. "I thought she did quite well, so I let her go again." He favoured Nagi with a coquettish _moue_ , continuing, "I am just joking, I did not threaten her, Nagi."

Crawford pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve. "Someone get me some water," he said, sinking to his knees, and drawing Schuldig down with him. Nagi ran to obey, and watched Crawford wash Schuldig's face clean of the white powder, bright red lipstick and black pencilled-in eyebrows. "There," he said at last. "That's better. Now, what shall we do with your hair?"

"Leave it," murmured Schuldig, as Crawford put a hand up to the elaborately dressed copper mass. "If he finds it so funny to want me in a woman's gown, he can see my hair like this. I find this more becoming than the style those poor doomed _samurai_ fools wore." He smiled and went on, "Besides, my hair pins are stilettos, and I am loath to forego them."

"You should be on the stage," said Crawford, curling his fingers about the back of Schuldig's neck. "We shall have to get you out of this silly outfit."

"At some later point," said Schuldig, "I have no time to change into sober attire now." He bounced up, striking a martial pose. "Let's go and protect Takatori-sama from the theatre-goers!" He paused, saying, "there's someone at the outer door."

At that moment one of the servants politely opened the door, a letter in his hands. "This came for you, Crawford-san," he said quietly, handing it over with a bow.

"It's been opened," said Schuldig.

"Much good it will have done them," replied Crawford, "unless they are adept at breaking our peoples' codes." He read the letter intently, looking up at last with grim satisfaction. Nagi waited to hear what it contained, but Crawford said nothing, though Schuldig's face lit up with fierce pleasure, and then Farfarello shrugged and turned away. "Tell Nagi," said Crawford.

Nagi jumped as he heard Schuldig's voice suddenly within his mind. "We are ordered out of Japan," murmured Schuldig. "We are to leave by the first available ship." Schuldig looked across at Crawford saying aloud, "When is that, do you know?"

"At the end of the week," said Crawford. "Now, we have dawdled enough. Let us not keep Mr Takatori waiting any longer." Waiting only for Schuldig to slide a revolver up his wide sleeve and pick up a dainty fan, he swept them all out the door.

Over the coming days, Nagi watched as Crawford quietly had only as many of their belongings as would escape notice moved from Takatori-sama's house. Their days continued as they had ever done, waiting for Takatori-sama to give them a task and then carrying it out quickly and quietly. The night before the ship was due to leave was their own, with nothing for them to do. Nagi's fingers shook as he dressed himself in the European clothes Crawford had had made for him, until finally he had to ask for help in doing up the boots.

"Stop worrying," said Schuldig, tying the laces in neat bows. "It's all right. We just walk out of here and don't come back."

Even as he said this, Crawford looked up, muttering, "Damn." The door slid back and Takatori-sama stood there, accompanied by two men with shotguns. Nagi shrank back, feeling suddenly smaller and frightened.

"Did you think I would not find out?" he said contemptuously. "You think you can desert my service? I know you have been reporting to your owners on what you have seen here! Your spying days are over, fools."

Crawford stepped in front of Farfarello as he took an eager step forward. "Stay calm," he said, holding out an arm to block Schuldig's movement also. "No. Stop." He looked at Takatori-sama coldly. "Don't make a mistake, Mr Takatori."

"Keep them here until I have decided what to do with them," said Takatori-sama, turning away. The men took up position, their shotguns held ready.

Crawford sank down to his knees, looking calm and self-assured. "Down," he said. "We must wait."

The others obeyed with surly unwillingness, and then Nagi heard Schuldig's voice once more inside his mind. "We will miss our ship." With a weird echo, as if it were very far away, Nagi heard Crawford's voice respond, "We have not missed our opportunity yet. Be ready upon my word." Nagi gasped a little, earning an exasperated glance from Schuldig. "Stop telling them we are conversing," said Schuldig's voice, the annoyance clear. Chastened, Nagi looked down at the floor, not raising his head at all for what seemed like hours.

"Nagi," murmured Schuldig into his mind after a long silence. "When Crawford gives the word, extinguish the lamps."

"Yes," thought Nagi, as strongly as he could. There was some disturbance somewhere in the house, he was sure he could hear something. A glance at the others warned him he should keep quiet, however, so he looked down at his hands once more.

Finally Crawford looked up. "Now," he said.

Nagi reached out with his abilities, and pinched the wicks of the lamps. The guards made soft, surprised noises, and as Nagi's eyes grew used to the dim lighting he saw Farfarello slash the throat of first one of the men and then the other, Schuldig leaping forward to catch their limp forms and lower them to the floor. It was over in as little time as it took Nagi to gasp. Schuldig tossed one of the shotguns to Farfarello with a breathy little laugh.

"Here," he said in a low voice, "even you can't miss with one of these."

"Takatori's coming," said Crawford. "Don't kill him. Let the fool stew in what's left of his misery." He pulled Nagi forward to stand in a line with them.

The door opened, and Takatori-sama rushed in. He seemed scared and somehow smaller than when Nagi had last seen him. He looked down when his foot hit one of the guards' bodies, and moaned.

"Crawford!" he said, his voice no longer proud. "The house is under attack!"

"Yes, Mr Takatori," said Crawford politely. "We guessed as much."

"You'll be able to deal with the assassins easily," said Takatori-sama, looking up at Crawford eagerly. "Make an example of them."

"I'm sorry, Mr Takatori," said Crawford with soft and deep malice, "we've been relieved of duty. Now, we have a ship to catch, so if you'll excuse us?"

"No, wait!" cried Takatori-sama. "If it's more money you want, estates, women --"

Schuldig laughed shortly. "Let's go," he said.

"But I did what you wanted!" pleaded Takatori-sama. Nagi could not believe how the man, so full of his own importance, now seemed so deflated and weak. "Anything you wanted me to bring before the government I did!" He grasped at Crawford's sleeve as they began to walk past, and was shaken off like an insect. "At least leave the boy," gasped Takatori-sama. "Can you be so cruel as to rip him from his land? His own people?"

Nagi glared at him in outrage. He knew well how little their employer had thought of him, seeing him as some whim of Crawford's, picked up by the roadside.

"I'm one of _them_ ," said Nagi fiercely, looking Takatori in the eye for the first time. " _They're_ my people."

Without another word, they left him. The corridors were filled with smoke, and the sound of flames licking their hungry way along the wood and paper of the house was horribly clear. Nagi bit back a cry as one of Takatori's guards staggered back across their path, falling dead at Crawford's feet. The black-clad assassin who had dispatched him looked directly at them, his eyes - the only part of his face visible - widening a he took in their appearance. He brought up his hands, which Nagi now saw were horribly weaponed, with steel claw protruding from heavy gloves.

"You do not see us," Schuldig said with perfect assurance in his voice that no other thing could be true. "We are not here."

The assassin blinked, then looked straight past them and ran down the corridor, Farfarello stepping aside to let him pass. From the end of the corridor, they heard an unknown voice screaming in rage, "Takatori! Face me and die!" and then the sound of blade on blade. They walked on.

"Those who live by the sword," said Farfarello with satisfaction as the sounds of combat ceased behind them, "die by the sword."

"That's why I favour guns," mused Schuldig.

"Let's hurry," said Crawford, putting a protective hand upon Nagi's shoulder. "We don't want them to leave without us."

They sailed at dawn. Nagi watched Tokyo recede behind them, and turned his back on Japan, walking over to stand by Crawford. He'd found people who really _wanted_ him.

  


* * * * *

  
 _The ruined city, 1880_

  
Nagi woke as a hand shook his shoulder. He blinked up to see Crawford stooped over them, a candle in his other hand.

"I knew you couldn't have gone far," said Crawford, with a wry smile.

"We simply could not abide your snores a moment longer," said Schuldig, apparently as wicked upon the moment of waking as he was throughout the rest of the day. "Is that not so, Nagi?"

Nagi smiled, then felt embarrassed to have done so. Crawford, however, merely shook his head in mock sorrow.

"I can see Schuldig is the worst of influences upon you. Come, now. It's time to get up."

He extended his free hand and Nagi took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. Schuldig grumbled, then rose also.

"Let us have bacon and sausages for breakfast," said Schuldig, "with plenty of butter for the toast and fresh cream for the coffee."

"Will porridge made from Martian grain do instead?" said Crawford.

"Why, you have divined my secret wish," said Schuldig playfully. "Have you become a mind reader when I wasn't looking?" He draped his blankets about Nagi as if the lad were a Roman of old to be attired in a toga, and ushered them both out the door. After a breakfast in which Nagi stealthily moved as many of possible of the pieces of fruit to the side of the pot from which he drew his share, they all looked at each other, unable to put off for another moment the question they wished answered.

"I'll go," said Crawford, putting a fresh candle in one of the lanterns. "Nagi, please open the door."

Nagi did so at once, seizing Crawford's hand as he started out into the corridor beyond. "Wait! I'll go with you!"

Crawford looked at him measuringly. "All right," he said. "But stay behind me. I mean that, Nagi."

"Yes," said Nagi at once, checking that he had his little pistol about him, in case they should suddenly meet with Martians, or, though he drove the thought from his mind, their _dov_ reverted to a wild and savage state.

"He'll shoot himself in the leg with that thing yet," called Schuldig gaily.

"Don't play with your pistol like that," chided Crawford.

"I'm sorry," said Nagi, colouring. He was glad when Crawford said no more, and led him out into the dark. The lantern gave little light, and Nagi fiercely told himself there was nothing to fear. Crawford wouldn't have said he might come otherwise. He gasped in fright when the first of their _dov_ reared its head from the ground where it had been dozing, but the great beast merely looked upon them, as if to say to itself, "Why, yes. I know them." The other _dov_ barely flickered an eyelid as they passed their great slumbering bulks. At last they reached the first set of corridors they had explored, and found sand upon the floors.

"Hmm," said Crawford, stirring it with a foot. "Well, it is only to be expected." He led the way further, and they came to the very first room, to find it almost completely full of sand once more. "I think I can see the opening," said Crawford. "Here, let me lift you --" Putting down his lantern, he did just that, and Nagi caught a glimpse of daylight.

"I see it," he said. "Has the storm gone?"

"I don't hear the wind, and can see no danger ahead," said Crawford. He smiled thinly at Nagi, continuing, "If I had not allowed you to come, I would now have to go back and fetch you! Move the sand from the room."

"That's easy," said Nagi, and paused. "Could you lift me again? So I can make sure it's going out properly?" Crawford grinned, looking suddenly much younger, and hoisted Nagi up once more. Concentrating, Nagi forced the sand out of the room as fast as he could, pausing now and then to catch his breath, until it was gone. Crawford set him down carefully, letting him lean heavily against him.

"You did that too fast," he chided, smoothing Nagi's perspiration-damp hair back from his eyes. "You don't have to try to impress me, I know you're a good, hard worker." He pushed the lad gently into supporting himself. "The moment of truth," he said. "Let us see what is left of our campsite." So saying, he went to the hole and lifted Nagi up yet again, so that he could pull himself through, Crawford then jumping up to catch the edge and climb out after him.

Nagi walked a little way from the entrance and then stood in the bright sunlight, peering round him as he shaded his eyes with a thin hand. The sand gleamed white under the sun, stretching levelly away as far as he could see. Of the walls and tombs that the wind and their work had previously exposed there was little sign, only the faint hollows and mounds indicating where such things might still be. Their campsite was flat and clean, as if the wind had scoured away any sign of humans.

"Oh," he breathed, looking at it. "All the work we did on the temple, gone."

Crawford sighed heavily. "At least we know where it is, and we have not lost too much time," he said. "Schuldig will be annoyed, but there is no help for it." He patted Nagi's shoulder, continuing, "We should go down and tell the others. I suppose it would make no difference if we simply camped in the palace for a while, if you don't want to move the things up yet." He sounded amused as he said, "And after all our admonitions to you, here we both are, standing in the sun without our hats!"

"Crawford," said Nagi, still staring out over the sands, "I'm glad I came with you."

"I wouldn't have let you if I'd seen any undue risk," said Crawford. "But you were good to be so obedient and careful anyway."

"No," said Nagi, feeling himself blush. "I mean I'm glad I came to Mars with you, even though I was so sick. I'm glad you took me with you when you left Japan." He looked shyly up, saying, "I'm glad you found me, that day in the orphanage."

"Are you?" said Crawford softly. "That's good. I'm glad too, Nagi. It's as I said, you belong with us. We want you and need you. Don't ever doubt that. We don't lie to each other."

Nagi pretended the light had made his eyes water, and said carelessly, "We should get the others up here to start work, shouldn't we? Let's tell them what's happened."

As he started back to the entrance to the palace, he heard Crawford say, "We won't ever abandon you." Turning about, Nagi gave Crawford his best smile.

"I know," he said, his heart light. Then he turned around and, with a loud whoop, flung himself into the hole, laughing as the _dov_ that had curiously come into the room rushed away in fright.

It was _good_ , he thought, to suddenly be so happy.


	40. Chapter 40

  
Farfarello looked about him in satisfaction. Their efforts over the last several days had restored to them the work they had achieved before the sand storm had struck, and they had broken into entirely new areas. No fights marred their progress, and all of them took as much of a part in the work as they could bodily bear. That this fell in greater part upon Nagi, though he was the slightest of them all, Farfarello found amusing. The day was now too hot to work, and they lay in the shade afforded them by a wall they had cleared, supplemented with an awning of canvas. Crawford and Micah reclined, playing a game of draughts on a board they had sketched out upon the sand, with pebbles for pieces. Schuldig lay at his ease, leaning back against Crawford, with Nagi's head pillowed on his thigh.

"Are you asleep?" thought Farfarello, sitting up and wrapping his arms under his knees and about his legs as Schuldig gave a sigh of contentment.

"No," came the answer. "Some idiot keeps calling me as I drift off."

"When are we going to kill him?" thought Farfarello, not betraying his question by even the slightest look towards Micah.

Schuldig opened one eye and smiled lazily. "Not when Crawford is sitting beside him. Do you want him warned? We want it to appear to be an accident."

"We'll never fool Crawford like that," thought Farfarello, frowning at him.

"If he suspects, what does it matter?" responded Schuldig. "As long as he cannot prove it. We cannot be sure that we will never see our old masters again, and uncertainty is as much as we can hope for. It will give us some moments in which to act, should they seize us."

"Not good odds," thought Farfarello, and grinned. "But worth taking! If they do take us, Schuldig, and we fight -- You know they will take Nagi also."

"He'll fight," thought Schuldig, settling down again, and laying a hand on Nagi's shoulder as the boy moved a little in his sleep. "And if they're winning, I'll kill him myself before they can capture him."

"Good," replied Farfarello, turning to look out over the hot sands, tapping one foot faster and faster. "I really want to kill someone," he thought disconsolately. "It has been too long."

"We'll ask Crawford if we may go hunting for natives," thought Schuldig in sleepy tones, the impression of sound within Farfarello's mind becoming fainter as the mind reader drifted into a doze. Farfarello waited some minutes, feeling unused energy urge him to move, then unhooked his arms from beneath his knees and rose. He stepped out of the shade into the hot sunlight, waving vaguely as Crawford and Micah looked up.

"I am growing weary of sitting still," he said. "I'm going for a walk."

"Isn't it too hot?" said Micah, as Crawford said, "Do not go far. Just because you cannot feel the full force of the sun's rays, it does not mean you are immune to their effects, with your pale Celtic complexion."

"I will take care," said Farfarello, turning and catching up his hat. "See?" he smiled. "I am sensible." Without further ado he walked away quickly, seeking to work off some of the need for action and violence that had been building within him. "Bad cess to polite company," he thought in annoyance. "We have been by ourselves too long. I will not act against them. I will not." He looked in sudden fury towards the heavens, saying, "Do you think you can trick me, is that it? I'll not harm them and you won't make me. They are not yours!" He marched on, clenching his fists and muttering, "They are safe from me. And I am safe with them." After a little he broke into a run, hoping to exhaust himself completely. At last he sat, perched high upon a large boulder he had scaled, and thinking hard. What, he wondered, if Micah had indeed been sent to take Crawford and Schuldig - and now Nagi too, as it seemed - away from him? Might Micah be acting, not on the orders of their old masters in Germany, but on those of the great Murderer? Perhaps their people had been infiltrated, Micah need not know of the treachery upon which he was sent. Or could some angel have whispered false visions in Crawford's ear, and so started him down this path, knowing how it would end in betrayal and death?

"Damnation," whispered Farfarello, seeing suddenly that somehow Schuldig had been led by his affections into being deceived - in a fight would he kill Nagi before it became truly necessary? That was what Heaven wanted, Farfarello was sure of it. "I must tell him at once!" he said, jumping from his seat. He stopped, seeing that it might arouse queries he could ill afford, should he go running back to the camp. "I must be calm, when I return," he thought, walking back to where he had started. "Ah!" he ejaculated in frustration. "How can I be calm? I have been too long without killing! Schuldig should never have aroused my hopes!"

He leaned back against the rock on which he had previously sat, a sour twist of dissatisfaction on his lips, making his scars seem even more prominent and awful. "Calm yourself," he thought. "Don't give in to it." After a few minutes of simply standing with his eyes closed, he stripped himself of his jacket, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. "Calm," he instructed himself again. "Don't you go getting too excitable; you don't want Crawford getting too angry with you." Pulling out his favourite thin-bladed knife, he looked with longing at the inside of his forearm, then with deliberation turned the tempting sight of the veins away. The first cut was a pleasure, the line of red following the progress of the blade. The next felt better yet, as did the third and the fourth. By the time he had to wipe the blood from his hand so that he could start on his other arm Farfarello was in a much better mood.

  


* * *

  
"Why I ever thought I could win against you, I simply do not know," said Micah ruefully, looking at their rough board. "I shall make sure to play only against those without oracular powers in future."

"Nonsense," said Crawford with a small smile. "You'll lose against me again later tonight. I see it quite clearly."

Micah laughed and lay back at his ease. "I am envious of your visions, Bradley," he said. "Such power! You put me quite to shame."

"They are useful," said Crawford, shifting a little to gain some ease from Schuldig's limp weight against his back. "But they are difficult to control. It took years before I was not left faint when strong ones came upon me suddenly, and even now -- well, as you saw, I can still be made weak."

"Can you make them come when you wish?" asked Micah, his face full of curiosity.

Crawford looked at him intently. Schuldig was asleep, Farfarello gone, Nagi would not wake -- Crawford thought hard -- no, he would not wake for some time. He could speak freely without fear of interruption. "Yes," he said, knowing that such information would be in the _dossier_ compiled about him in the Schloß. He was not giving anything away. "To an extent. But the further I try to force it the more ill-defined it becomes, there are too many possibilities that might worm their way in. Such visions are not as accurate as those that come upon me unlooked for." As Micah nodded in interest Crawford cast his mind some minutes into the future, hoping that this would go unnoticed. He could not see any problems, for which he was greatly relieved. "The visions are in themselves not enough," said Crawford. "I would not be able to achieve as much as I have without the aid of my friends."

"You give them too much credit," said Micah with a smile. "That they succeed in your orders is due in no small part, I am sure, to your foresight and experience."

"No," said Crawford, "that is not all, though I of course have a great part to play. They are themselves experienced, Micah, and can be trusted to act as they deem best in any mission. I know they will act for my benefit as well as their own."

"And that of our people, of course," said Micah.

"Of course," said Crawford easily. "Schuldig especially I know I can rely on, both for his ability to read minds and his great good sense - no, do not laugh! How cruel of you, Micah!" He smiled at the merry laugh Micah tried to stifle. "He is very sensible. His flightiness is but a mask he shows the world. I have never had recourse to doubt his intelligence or loyalty."

"I was given to understand that he has displeased you on many occasions," said Micah.

"If I let it be seen how I value him, might not some other agent become jealous, and seek to use their influence to steal him away? I will not lose him," said Crawford, looking closely at Micah. "He is too dear to me, both as a comrade in arms and as my dearest friend."

"I worry about you," said Micah. "A mind reader is a chancy gift to be given, especially one as charming and girlishly pretty as Schuldig. Are you sure he has not been influencing you, Bradley? Making you more fond of him than you should be?"

"I am quite sure," said Crawford, the treacherous thought creeping through his mind that he had at times wondered that very thing. "I do not doubt him, nor his attachment to me. He is my partner, Micah, in everything I do." He raised up a little in growing passion, holding still as Schuldig shifted against him, muttering in his sleep. "Oh, it would not do to wake him," thought Crawford, continuing more sedately, "It is of the value of friendship that I wish to speak, Micah. We were friends once, were we not?"

"I had hoped we were so again," said Micah. "Are we not friends, Bradley?"

"I hope so," said Crawford. "I find myself thinking more and more of our childhood since we have been restored to each other."

"And I," said Micah warmly. "Do not doubt that."

"I've found that more and more I rely on my friendships, over and above the directives from Germany," said Crawford in determination. "We are the ones in the midst of the situations to which we must respond, they are far away, and often give orders that would be detrimental to follow."

"Well," said Micah, "of course you must respond to your surroundings quickly."

"And if forced to choose," said Crawford, "I would choose my friends every time."

Micah looked at him silently. Then, "Don't be silly," he said. "There is no need to be so dramatic in your statements, Bradley, I really do believe you are pleased to have me in your company again."

"This is important," said Crawford. "I mean this, Micah. I value Schuldig, and Farfarello and Nagi too, above the demands of our organisation. If the world was in one side of the balance and they in the other, my choice would be easy."

"The world _is_ in the balance," said Micah with a small frown. "You know that. We have a great commission - giving in to sentimentality cannot help, Bradley. I'm sure your friends have been of great comfort to you, but to say you prefer them to your assigned work, why that is pure self-indulgence of the most childish sort!"

"We are taught to disregard the bonds of family and friends," said Crawford, "yet I think you must value such bonds at least a little. Am I not right, brother?" Seeing Micah suddenly fall silent, letting what he'd been about to say go unsaid, Crawford pushed on, saying, "I wept every night for _months_ , Micah, not because of how they treated me, but because I missed you so. I would have done anything to have you back. If they appreciated the value of such close bonds they could have held out your return as a reward for my compliance. They'd have broken me sooner than they did."

"Bradley," said Micah, looking away, "don't make me think of that time. I'd have given anything to see you. They said if I tried hard enough, if I obeyed every least one of their whims -- but I never was good enough to be sent back."

"You're with me now," said Crawford. "And we don't have to be separated again."

"Can you ask for me to be assigned to your team permanently?" said Micah.

"You are forgetting your lessons," said Crawford gently. "We do not ask. We take. Stand with me, Micah, be one of us. We will need every man we can find." He took a deep breath. "I mean to be free. I am leaving, and I'm taking my friends with me. I want you, too."

"Leaving?" asked Micah, blankly.

"I am no longer a loyal and faithful servant," said Crawford. "I prefer to be a free man in truth. I do not want to belong to them any more, I am sickened by what they did to us, how they see us. Do you know that I was told it didn't matter how quickly I got Farfarello killed? That I could always be given more fighters? I despise such wasteful attitudes."

"But there are plenty of men you could be given to fight for you," said Micah. "Bradley -- we are no longer children. They _had_ to be harsh with us, how else could they control so many students with such power?"

"By treating us as something other than beasts," said Crawford. "By gaining our trust and love rather than our fear and hatred --"

"I see he _has_ been influencing you," said Micah, with a meaningful glance at Schuldig.

"It's the other way around," said Crawford. "Micah -- I'd have thought -- of all people, don't _you_ want to be free?"

"You son of a --" said Micah, rocking back as if he'd been slapped.

"What have they promised you?" said Crawford implacably. "That when they have remade the world, and rule it undisputed, that then everything will be fair? That your grandsons' grandsons will have cause to thank you? If they ever allow you to marry? Micah, you can have friends, family, _freedom_ right _now_. I promise. I don't abandon those I love, I don't abandon my family. Not ever. And you're my _brother_. Don't turn your back on me."

Micah put a hand over his eyes. "And I wondered if you were as good as they said," he said, sounding winded. "I see now that Schuldig is your victim, not you his."

"Micah," said Crawford more gently. "Think of how you have been treated, how we all have been. Think of the life you would like to have, and help me achieve that for you. We can have that now, all of us."

Micah looked up at the canvas overhead, his face drawn and unhappy. "I wish they'd shot me, that day," he said bleakly. "Truly, Bradley, I do. It would have been better for us all."

"I can't undo our schooling, but I can give us better futures," said Crawford. After a moment, without looking at him, Micah reached out and took his hand, holding it tight in his own.

"Brother," Micah whispered, still looking up at the canvas, "I'm with you."

Crawford drew a satisfied breath. "We'll need to speak more," he said. "When you're more used to the idea. I'm so glad, Micah! I --" he paused, seeing within his mind a problem. It would not do to rush from Micah's side, he saw that clearly. "A moment," he said, sitting up and shaking Schuldig not ungently.

The young German opened his eyes slowly and gave Crawford a sleepy smile. "Br--" he started, then his gaze slid past him towards Micah. "Crawford, what is it?" he said, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Go and see what is keeping Farfarello so long," said Crawford. "Bring bandages," he thought.

" _Ja, ja_ , I'll find him," muttered Schuldig, gently disentangling himself from the sleeping Nagi, then climbing to his feet and walking off, stretching as he went.

Crawford did not watch him go, turning instead back to Micah, who took his hand once more, and essayed a smile that seemed genuine, if still shadowed by sadness.

"Let's talk more," said Micah. "Tell me all; I need to _know_ , Bradley."

  


* * *

  
Schuldig found Farfarello huddled at the base of a rock, his eyes closed and his clothing soaked in blood.

"Idiot," he said, pouring water over Farfarello's arms, and then very carefully smoothing salve over them before bandaging them neatly. "Why do you do this to yourself? Who will I have to shout at if you misjudge?"

"I avoided the veins," said Farfarello in a whisper.

"By pure luck, no doubt. I know what you get like. Can you stand?"

"I tried a while ago," said Farfarello. "I couldn't then."

Schuldig sat by him, and kept him from sliding to the side again. He sighed, seeing that he would, no doubt, have to carry the young man back to the camp. "I should have brought Nagi," he grumbled.

"No," said Farfarello with a breathless laugh. "Let him go on thinking I'm the sensible one of the two of us."

"Sensible? He reveres every word that drops from my lips as if it were Holy Writ," said Schuldig.

"Exactly," said Farfarello. "You spout nonsense. I must look bad if you feed me such easy jests."

"Crawford didn't say you'd die," said Schuldig. "So I am assuming you live long enough for him to shout at you. Which will be tomorrow, given that it's a long walk back. And after a night's rest you'll probably be your old healthy self again. Are you awake? Are you listening to me? Farfarello? We have a problem."

"I just need to sleep," said Farfarello. "You said so yourself."

"Crawford spoke to Micah. He told him we're breaking free. Micah's accepted that, he wants to be one of us."

Farfarello opened his eye and fixed it upon Schuldig. "What did you say?"

"I was pretending to be asleep. Don't look at me like that, they believed it. Even Crawford didn't suspect. But if Micah means what he said, and he'd be useful --" Schuldig sighed heavily, like a child whose promised treat has been denied it. "We cannot kill him," he said.

Farfarello banged his head back against the rock in annoyance. "We'd really better find some Martians for me to kill," he snapped.


	41. Chapter 41

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
"The ancient natives certainly built on a massive scale," said Schuldig, looking about the dimly lit chamber. "Look at the pillars, Crawford! Are they not like those of the temples in the City of the Horizon of the Aten?"

"Very like indeed," said Crawford in pleasure, looking in delight about the great space into which they had broken a short while before and pushing his spectacles up his nose, privately cursing the great heat that made them all perspire so. All about them were finely wrought pillars rising tall and slender into the gloom. On them were carvings and paintings, all annotated with the ancient native script. Crawford laid a hand on the nearest and felt the weight of centuries, as it were, coursing through him. He turned as he became aware that Schuldig had spoken to him.

"What? I did not hear you, Schuldig," he said.

"How far are we beneath the modern level of the ground?" repeated Schuldig, tracing the outline of a Martian warrior with one grimy finger.

"Forty, fifty feet perhaps," said Crawford. "Such a wonder, left beneath the sands," he murmured. He decided that when they left he would have Nagi cover it over, untouched. "I have destroyed far too much of beauty and antiquity already," he thought. "This I will leave, to sleep on beneath the sands."

"I think you love these old stones more than you do your own friends," grumbled Schuldig. "All your thoughts from waking to sleeping are filled with excavations and antiquities. You no doubt wish you had been given a task as a curator in the Berlin museum."

"Or in the British Museum," said Crawford. "You could have profitably been employed as a floor sweeper in either establishment."

"I'm glad to know your true opinions of my abilities at last," said Schuldig, in a voice that was brusquer than Crawford felt warranted. He seemed surprised himself, and made an obvious effort to smile lightly.

"I'll cook tonight," said Crawford, "unless you would prefer to?"

"Attempting to wriggle out of your turn?" said Schuldig. "No, no, you must cook, and then sadly, we must eat it. A poor reward for our labours - I think you have quite worn Nagi out," he said, smiling minutely and pointing to where the lad sat against another pillar, resting his head upon his knees. "You have been working him hard. You have been working us all hard."

"I do not exempt myself," said Crawford, feeling it was poor of Schuldig to complain when they had all worked so very hard. The young man had been sullen and withdrawn for the last days, working in diligent silence, and resisting all attempts to cheer him up. It was perhaps, thought Crawford, that he and Farfarello seemed to have fallen out, their usual loud bickering and foolishness being replaced by chilly annoyance on Farfarello's part and a studied indifference on that of Schuldig.

"I didn't say you did," said Schuldig, his tone losing some of its careful lightness. "I do not pretend to dissatisfaction under you, nor am I seeking special favour. I know you do not like to play favourites." He turned aside, his face sulky, and would not look at Crawford, even when his friend laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Schuldig," said Crawford. "Let's not fight. You are so short-tempered recently. What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," said Schuldig, sounding annoyed. "Truly, Crawford. I am just tired, and thinking I am so damnably hot."

"It's cooler down here, at least," said Crawford quietly. The heat was exhausting in truth, he thought, and had sapped all their strengths. Schuldig had shown his worth and had worked harder than them all in physical labour, and without any complaint, until Crawford had pronounced Farfarello fit to handle his tools once more. No doubt he felt Farfarello's coldness a poor recompense for carrying more of the burden of work. "You have grown too thin, my friend," he said, taking up Schuldig's hand and looking closely at how fine-boned his wrist had become. "You are sweating yourself away. You should drink extra shares of water, we need not ration it, you know that."

"I wish we were somewhere cooler," said Schuldig, turning his hand within Crawford's and intertwining their fingers. He sighed and looked about him, his expression growing sourer by the moment. "I wish we were back in the Balkans."

"You said it was too cold there," smiled Crawford. "And it rained all the time, we were filthier even than here and had fleas to boot! Does hiding from the rain under a bush really seem so attractive to you?"

"I have fond memories of those bushes -- I just want it to be the two of us again," muttered Schuldig, glaring at the others.

"And abandon our friends?" smiled Crawford. "Farfarello would soon be fatally caught in some convent, Nagi would pine for us and Micah would think us deceivers. We'll go as soon as we might, Schuldig." He smiled, continuing even more quietly, "And I will take you wherever you wish to go, and acquire anything that takes your fancy, until even you can no longer bear to be kept in luxury."

"If you are going to keep me like a pet," said Schuldig, in a petulant voice, "I will cultivate a very high endurance for luxury indeed, until you are quite beggared." His gaze slid past Crawford and he stood straighter, saying more loudly, "And will you need to draw every last inch of the pictures and script within these walls, Crawford?"

"Every last inch," said Crawford, the smile which he wore colouring his tone, but not quite reaching his eyes any longer. "Can you not try to accept him?" he thought wearily, hearing footsteps approach.

"He despises me, you know that," answered Schuldig in like manner, a cheerful expression suddenly upon his face. "You see, Micah," he continued aloud, as that gentleman came up to them, "once more Crawford will lose himself in artistic endeavours!"

"I was very impressed with your skill in drawing those designs from the palace, Bradley," said Micah, looking with interest at the pillar behind Schuldig. "I have no doubt you shall do these justice also."

"I'll have run out of sketchbooks before I copy everything," said Crawford lightly, noting with a slight sinking of his heart that the yearning tone in which Micah had spoken for some days was becoming stronger. "He is being polite - he wants us to like him," he thought. "Having joined with us in truth, you now make him feel unwelcome."

"You can tell the emotions of others now, can you? Have you been taking lessons from Nagi?" thought Schuldig, pointing out a comical depiction of _dov_ dressed in court finery at the same time to divert Micah's attention.

"Be pleasant," thought Crawford, contriving to make his thought as snappish as if he had spoken aloud in frustration.

" _Jawohl, mein Herr,_ " thought Schuldig, smiling at him lazily and insolently in a way that made it instantly clear he was engaged in more than one conversation. "And are you well this fine evening, Micah?" he said in overly-honeyed tones. "I've been worrying about your welfare all day." Micah's smile faltered as he looked between them, and with a murmured apology for his interruption he turned away, walking off into the gloom of the great chamber.

"That's better," said Schuldig in deep and vicious satisfaction.

"You are like a spoilt, indulged child," said Crawford in annoyance, his irritation quite outweighing his previous attempted enjoyment of Schuldig's company. "Can you not do even one simple thing when I require it? Now I shall again have to assure him of his welcome."

"If it's such a damnable burden for you, think of how it is for me," said Schuldig nastily, then drew in a sharp breath as Crawford shoved him against the pillar, the back of his head striking the reddish stone.

"Don't speak to me like that! You have not had a civil tongue in your head for days!" hissed Crawford, his friend's insolence and pettiness infuriating him. "Who do you think you are?"

"Oh!" ejaculated Schuldig. "Forgive me, Herr Crawford! I had quite forgot that I may not express any opinion of my own! If I truly have any thoughts or opinions of my own, that is, for as we all know," he said, raising his voice, "mind readers are but collections of impulses and the views of others!" Pulling out his knife and offering it hilt first to Crawford he continued, "Here, perhaps you would like to hack off my hair?"

Crawford took a step back in annoyance, saying icily, "Speak to me when you wish to apologise, and not before." He turned and strode away, his heart beating fast. "I would have hit him," he thought in surprise. "Why does he try to provoke me so, when I have his interests at heart?" Seeing Nagi rise to his feet and hesitantly step in Schuldig's direction, he called, "Nagi! Come here!"

" _Ja_ , Nagi!" cried Schuldig mockingly. "You prefer him in any case!"

"He is being silly," said Crawford reassuringly to the lad who looked back and forth between them in some distress. "The heat and tiredness are making him act so, he does not mean to upset you." Looking back without expression, he thought, "Leave the boy out of your idiocy. Do not try to bully him," then gathered up Nagi and strode away, leaving Schuldig quite alone.

"You utter fool!" thought Schuldig, watching Crawford put his hand upon Nagi's shoulder and lead the lad away. "What is wrong with you? Anyone might think you are in truth as that interloper says! Go after him, apologise," he continued, but his pride would not let him and instead he kept to himself, nursing his anger that Crawford should have been so ungentle, and his irritation that Farfarello blamed him for encouraging him to consider murder only to take the occasion away from him.

It was a silent and uneasy group that ate dinner that night, Crawford when he spoke at all engaging only Micah in conversation. Schuldig ate but little, noting how Nagi looked at him in worry, and was always prevented from coming to his side, Crawford putting a hand out each time the lad started to move. The boy seemed very sad, and Schuldig felt, though he tried to extinguish it within himself, a sense of guilt whenever he saw Nagi's unhappy eyes. Farfarello looked anywhere but in his direction, and kept his jests and insults to himself. Schuldig stared unhappily down into his plate, thinking things had been so much easier when he had been planning on ways to rid them of Micah, and how bad he seemed to be at accepting what had transpired. "Am I so displeased to have another helper in our struggle?" he thought, and looked up at Crawford, who ignored him still. "Am I simply angry that he has found his brother, when I in all likelihood shall never again see my family?" The thought worried him, making him think that he was simply jealous like a child. To be caught in such unprofessional behaviour strengthened his feelings of guilt, especially as he saw Crawford smile at Micah. He accepted a cup of coffee that the silent and watchful Farfarello brought to him grudgingly, thinking further, "What do I care if I never see those people again? I can barely remember them! _These_ are my family." He groaned as this repudiation of the family he had so recently been harbouring hopes of finding merely deepened the feeling of guilt creeping within him. How fickle he was, he thought. Crawford would quite rightly despise him and think his affections would as easily turn elsewhere yet again. He was a bad example for Nagi and was not fit to show the boy how to act as a man-- "I must stop this," he thought, finding that he was tapping his fingers in a fast and erratic manner. "I will make myself ill. Breathe slowly, you fool! Get yourself under control!" Sighing, he looked up at the stars, as if seeking inspiration therefrom, and then over at Micah, thinking that if he were truly to apologise to Crawford, he should do something his friend would want, no matter how galling to his pride it might be. It would not do to go to bed still angry at Crawford, and for Crawford to still be angry at him. He had felt his anger festering for far too long already, since the time Micah had first insulted him, he realised as he thought about it. It was not a situation that could be allowed continue, especially not as he now felt. Still, he thought, there was no need to act like a total fool. Perhaps he might learn something useful by being as pleasant as Crawford had wanted him to be. "Micah," he said at last, "might I speak with you?"

"What is it?" said Micah sombrely.

"In private," said Schuldig, standing and looking as harmless as he might.

Micah frowned but followed him away from the others. Schuldig led him out of earshot, but not out of sight, thinking it would not do to rouse Farfarello's hopes once again.

"You made me very angry," he said without preamble, "with that damned jest about my sister, and although you apologised I have held it against you ever since." He held up a hand as Micah opened his mouth to speak. "No, wait. What a stupid thing to say, Micah, if you believe, as you say, that I am little more than a beast."

"I don't believe that," said Micah, looking shamefaced.

"Crawford told me you don't like mind readers," said Schuldig. "I can't say I blame you, I'd happily see most of those I know dead. _I_ , however, am _Crawford's_ mind reader, and I want us to be able to work together. I think we can, if certain things are resolved between us." He took a deep breath, told himself not to gabble out the humiliating apology that pushed at his mind, and held out his hand. "I forgive you. For my part I am sorry both for holding the grudge and for those insults I have given you. Can you forgive me for that?"

"Gladly," said Micah, taking his hand in a firm and manly grip. "Bradley needs us both, Schuldig."

"Yes," said Schuldig calmly, shaking Micah's hand and finding within himself the control to push his mind against the other man's as hard and as stealthily as ever he might. He hid his frustration as he read nothing, smiling slightly in an embarrassed way. "You can ask me about mind readers," he said. "I will not be offended."

"No, no," said Micah. "It does not matter. You're his friend, that's all that's important." He looked down, almost shyly, going on to say, "I am not trying to replace you in his affections, Schuldig."

"That relieves me, and as you are his brother, it no doubt will relieve him also," said Schuldig with dry humour. As Micah laughed, he added, to see what the other man would say, "When you were being trained, they instructed you in how to raise mental walls, I presume? Or will you accept my professional advice?"

"In truth," said Micah, "when I was under instruction, their endeavours to force some ability from those they saw as lesser students often had the effect of laying down barriers in the mind."

"Really?" said Schuldig in interest.

"I cannot explain it," said Micah in some evident frustration. "It is as if the poor ability they forced from me must run down certain pathways, and needs such restraints to channel it to the meagre extent I can. That is what they said, in any case."

"No more can I really say what it is like to read minds," said Schuldig, wishing he had Nagi by him to say if Micah betrayed a falsehood through nervousness or not. "I simply do it. Come, let us poison ourselves a little more with Brad's coffee." He smiled and received a smile in return. Within himself he felt unhappy to have used Crawford's name so, but shook the feeling from himself, thinking fiercely that it was not such a betrayal of privacy, and was a sign of putting anger behind him. Leading Micah back to the others he sat beside Crawford, and poured coffee for first Micah and then himself. Crawford was at least looking his way now, and Schuldig felt great relief that he could be open with one person at least. "Do you want me to abase myself to you?" he thought, calmly and quietly as if he whispered, not bothering to hide the tone of shame his thought carried.

"Never," thought Crawford, briefly squeezing his hand. "Have you been making friends?"

"Well," thought Schuldig, "it's a start. Crawford, about earlier --"

"We're all tired, we're all short-tempered," thought Crawford, forestalling his apology, and aloud, "Let us all get some rest. Nagi, you have been more than half-asleep for the last hour."

"I'm awake," said Nagi without opening his eyes. He did not resist when Crawford gently pushed him towards the tents, barely opening his eyes enough to make out his way, and falling down quite fully asleep upon the blankets. After a very little while longer, the others all made their weary way to bed also.

"Nagi said you have been becoming queerer and queerer over the last few days; tell me what is wrong," said Crawford quietly, so as not to disturb the sleeping boy, pulling off his boots as he spoke. "Don't disobey this time."

"No, I won't, I swear it," said Schuldig, unhappy to feel better the moment he capitulated, for he knew this to be something that the instructors in Schlo Rosenkreuz had put upon him. "Farfarello is angry with me," he said cautiously. "He's been making me feel guilty about something."

"And will I be angry if you tell me what it is about?" said Crawford. Schuldig closed his mouth tight, the urge to say too much receding. Crawford sighed. "Very well," he said. "You don't have to tell me."

"In any case, your anger earlier made me feel worse, once my own had died down a little," said Schuldig, "and I want it all behind me. But I need some distraction from my thoughts, Crawford. Use me for some tiring task, wear me out completely, I will be all right tomorrow. There must be _some_ chore I can do tonight."

Pulling out some notebooks and a dog-eared printed volume, Crawford said, "Here, compare the characteristics of these sketches I have made of the native pottery with those in the catalogue. It is very boring - and so I have made excuses not to do it myself! - and will demand careful concentration." He patted Schuldig's arm as his friend took the books with gratitude, continuing, "Your moods have been getting more extreme recently. Do not let it build up, Schuldig."

"Micah's arrival has made our treachery against our masters seem all the more real to me," said Schuldig. "And today, even seeing him made me feel more and more guilty." He looked up at Crawford suddenly, frowning. "Do you think he can feel what others feel, like Nagi? Could he be forcing me to feel this way?"

"I haven't felt any sudden changes of emotion when I am in his company," said Crawford. "That's not a profitable line of thought, my friend, don't indulge it. You know quite well who wants you to feel this way, and I promise you, you will be free of their influence."

"I want that," murmured Schuldig. "I want to feel my old gay self again, and quickly."

"You will," said Crawford, straightening Schuldig's unruly hair so that it lay neatly upon his shoulders. "You are strong, you will feel better very quickly. You are simply exhausted at the moment and have been neglecting yourself. Tomorrow I want you to rest, do you hear me?"

"You'll need me to help you," said Schuldig, frowning at the pictures of pottery, and flicking through Crawford's notebooks to match them with those pieces they had previously found.

"I need _you_ ," said Crawford, lying down and pulling up his blankets. "We'll both rest." He shook his head slightly at the diligence with which Schuldig applied himself to his task. "Come to bed as soon as you feel able, Schuldig."

"Yes," said Schuldig absently, scribbling notes. "Do you mind if I keep the lamp on?" So engrossed was he in his requested task that he noted no answer, and was more than a little surprised when he stretched stiffly some time later, taking out his pocket-watch to find that several hours had passed. Peering stealthily over Crawford's shoulder to where Nagi lay huddled, he told himself that the lad would not feel neglected should Schuldig indulge himself this once, extinguished the faltering lamp and lay on Crawford's other side, feeling his friend stir sleepily. Schuldig burrowed against him, sighing in relief as Crawford's arms went about him, and sleep claimed him quickly and peacefully, with no guilt left to stain his dreams.


	42. Chapter 42

_Schlo Rosenkreuz, 1869_

  
"Do you know where you are, boy?"

"Hell."

The devil walked back and forth before him, sneering down at him. John waited patiently, seeing what the devil would do next. The room was neat and warm, with a fire burning in the grate, and he'd be happy to wait all night in such comfort. They didn't speak English in Hell he'd found, and he was surprised and gratified that the devil would be so polite as to talk to a gurrier like him in a tongue he could understand. The other devils had sworn and spat in the language of Hell when he'd fought them. He'd only stopped trying to draw blood when he saw they wanted him washed, not baptised. It was a pity about his knife, but he had an idea he'd be able to find another one easy enough.

"Do you know _why_ you are here, boy?"

"You have a job for me to be doing," said John in perfect confidence.

The devil paused, then bent down to look him in the eyes. "Who has been telling you that? What have they told you?"

"Other divils. They say they want me to hurt people." John frowned. "Mam said hurting people was bold, but if I'd been better at it I could've saved her." He smiled up at the devil, cheerful again as he remembered the boy who'd thought a half-starved little Dublin lad was easy to bully. The other lads had only stopped laughing when they'd seen he wasn't going to stop slamming the eejit's face into the floor till he was good and satisfied. "I'm good at hurting people now," he said confidingly. "I'm yer man."

"He's Irish?" the devil said to the little devil in the corner.

"There are plenty of Irish in London," said that devil, shrugging. "No doubt his family were there looking for work."

"I got meself there," said John, wishing to impress upon them his resourcefulness.

"And how did you do that?" said the devil, looking not at all interested.

"There was a gang of orphanage lads being sent to England to work," said John. "'What's one more?' thought I, and on I got to the boat with them. There was little enough to be doing in Kingstown anyway. They went one way in England, I went another." He wondered if he should say anything about wanting to get out of Dublin fast, and thought he wouldn't. It was nothing important.

"That's when you found him?" the devil said over his shoulder.

"It was not," said John, worried that it would look bad to seem the sort of boy who was barely in a place when he was taken by force from it. "I was in London months and months before that."

"I see," said the devil, and slapped him in the face. "Do not interrupt your elders. Speak when you're spoken to. How did you survive?"

John stared at him sullenly. His lip was split, and it hurt, a dull pain that spiked sharply when he drew his tongue across it. "Like I did at home," he said, just before he was about to get another hand across the face. "I begged. I robbed what I could. I ran messages for people. The streets aren't paved with gold, you know. The stories are lies."

"How long did you survive in such a way in Dublin?"

"I don't know," said John in some bewilderment. "I don't remember some of it too well. A year, two years. I took soup from the Protestants, but what does that matter?" He paused, seeing the others look at him as if he spoke nonsense. "Two years," he said. "I'm nine now. Almost."

"Nine. Good. I'm told you see things," the devil said. "Is that true?"

"I'm not blind," said John. "I can see all right."

"You can see angels," said the devil. "Do they tell you things? Tell you to do things?"

John paused. It could only be a good thing to work for the devil. He'd get his own back on Heaven, surely. And he was warmer and better fed than he'd been for longer than he could remember. But what if seeing angels was the wrong thing to do? Perhaps it was a sign he could be redeemed, and he didn't want that at all. "Only good people see the blessed angels," he said carefully. "I'm not good."

"Herr Blumenthal found you in a church," the devil said gently. "Can you remember why you were there?"

"It was lashing out," said John. "The church was dry. I don't like the rain."

"Do you remember the priest?" the other devil said abruptly. " _Mein Gott_ , you should have seen this brat's handiwork. You would find it hard to believe of an untrained man, let alone a child."

"Something bad happened to the priest," John said neutrally. It was hard not to sound satisfied. The sound of the rain had been so loud, and the church so dark.

"Did the angels tell someone to do something bad to him?" the devil said intently.

"They cried," said John, unable to restrain his glee at the memory. "The place was only full of their whinging." He rocked back and forth, whispering to himself as the sitting room receded in his consciousness, hearing heavy rain and screams.

"John. John! Pay attention. Do the angels ever tell you about things that have not yet happened? You might find it difficult to understand what they mean, if they do that. We can help you."

He blinked up at the devil in surprise. He'd never considered such a thing. "They mostly speak in Latin," he said. "I only know Latin from the Mass."

The devil sighed in annoyance, and the little devil looked worried. "You know, sir," he said, "many oracles are said to interpret their visions through an obsession with religion. This could be trained out of him."

"His visions speak in a language he does not know," snapped the devil. "He is more likely a weak mind reader drawn to churches and allowing the thoughts of clerics to cloud his perceptions."

"I'm sure they're visions, rather than the thoughts of others," said the little devil. "Another oracle would be a rare prize, would he not?"

"An oracle who was not a madman would be," muttered the devil. "Look how he mutters and shakes. John! What do you see?"

"I'm not mad," said John at once, snapping his gaze away from the angel crouched in the corner, so lost and lonely in Hell. "I can work for you. I want to work for you. I'm not mad." Only when he sighed in relief at the devil's nod of agreement did he realise he had been holding his breath. He turned to go at the other devil's command, and was pulled up short by the next imperious words.

"Who did you kill in Dublin, John?"

"No one," he said in horror, whirling round. "No one!"

"Really?" said the devil, picking up a paper from the desk. John felt sick to see the familiar design of the title, and, though he was warmly dressed and wearing good stout boots, went cold from head to toe, as if he stood barefoot on freezing stone. "No one? What does this say, John?"

"I just sold them," whispered John. "I couldn't read them."

"No? That will be remedied. Let me tell you what it says. Some months before Herr Blumenthal found you in London - where you had been for 'months and months' as you say - there was a murder in Kingstown, that very place you say there was little amusement. An elderly nun, found brutally slain in the sanctuary of a church. "Butchered" the paper tells me, and "obscenities" are mentioned. I'm sure you can supply the details, John. How lucky for you that a ship was ready to undock. Well? Have you anything to say?"

John looked at him, obscure and inexplicable relief washing over him. Was _that_ all it was? He gave his very best smile. "It was raining. The church was dry."

The devil shook his head, making a shooing gesture in vague distaste. "Take him away, Blumenthal, and let us see what we can make of him. Have him examined thoroughly, and give him to Dorfmann if you can't use him as an oracle. Teach him to read, teach him to speak German, and for God's sake, teach him to speak English with a less uncouth accent."

  


* * *

  
 _The ruined city, 1880_

  
"Is there more coffee?" said Farfarello, looking warily at the pot. Micah held it out pouring a liquid that indeed resembled coffee into his tin cup.

"Schuldig made some more," said Micah as Farfarello raised it to his lips.

He paused, looking into the cup as if he might read therein his future for the day, then shrugged and drank. "I can hardly taste it anyway," he said. "Though I can tell it is as foul as ever," he continued. "Schuldig! What is it you do to the coffee to make it taste as it does?"

"I could not make it out behind the boulders this morning," said Schuldig idly. "Luckily the coffeepot was at hand. How you fuss, Farfarello! My coffee is perfectly all right - see Micah is happy to drink it, are you not, Micah?"

"Yes, yes, indeed," said Micah, pouring himself a cup and sipping at it gingerly in demonstration of this fact. "It will certainly wake us all up," he said, smiling as Nagi coughed at his first mouthful of the newly brewed drink.

"Nagi loves my coffee," said Schuldig, "don't you?"

"Yes," said Nagi in a dull and mesmerised monotone as if another spoke through him. "I - love - your - coffee."

"Brat," said Schuldig as the others laughed. "I'll get my revenge when you least suspect it. Possibly by getting Crawford to cook more often. You, at least, like my coffee, do you not, Crawford?"

"I am at least used to it," said Crawford, sitting beside the young mind reader and briefly touching his hand.

Farfarello looked away to let them have even a moment's privacy. He was glad to see they had made up their differences, and was just as pleased to have Schuldig easily insulting and teasing him once more. "I should not have been cold to him," he thought. "He has not looked well over these last days. I will make it up to him somehow. Perhaps I will drink more of his nasty coffee." He thought for a while, the fact that Crawford had proclaimed it to be a day of rest annoying him a little, for it meant his easiest means of pleasing Schuldig, by taking on his work for the day, was now not possible.

"I think I will climb up the side of the valley and observe our work from above," he said at last. "I cannot bear to be idle, even if we all need the rest. It's quite a walk, so perhaps I should take a _dov_ \- Nagi," he continued, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, "would you like to ride up there with me?" As he had expected, the lad's face lit up at the thought of riding his beloved _dov_ , and the boy eagerly agreed. "Will you come as well, Micah?" asked Farfarello. "I do not expect there to be any need for it, but if we should meet with trouble it would be good to have someone adept with the use of a rifle. A one-eyed man is not as good a shot as one with the use of all his vision!"

"Certainly," said Micah, smiling a little to himself. "Shall we go at once?"

"Why not?" said Farfarello.

"Are you coming, Crawford?" said Nagi. "Schuldig?"

"Someone will need to stay to guard the camp," said Micah. "Is that not so, Farfarello?"

"Yes," said Farfarello cheerfully, grinning as Schuldig and Crawford regarded him with dry amusement. "And we can't just leave Schuldig by himself - if the natives attack he'd just try to talk them to death, and his command of their tongue is nowhere near as good as Crawford's." He strove not to laugh as Nagi looked serious, as if this made some sort of sense. "Come now, let's hurry and get off before it becomes too hot," he said, urging the others away from the camp fire. "Nagi, fetch some water, Micah, please get your rifle. I'll get some food, and harness the _dov_." Within a short space of time he had them ready to leave, and they rode gaily from the camp. Farfarello looked back to see Schuldig lazily raise a hand in farewell, then return to his occupation of leaning against Crawford, drawing his friend's arm about him. Turning his gaze back upon the trail, Farfarello watched in amusement as Nagi urged his _dov_ at obstacles so that it would rush over them in its queer scurrying gait. By the time they eventually reached the top of the valley side, Farfarello had to remind himself that not all men were as he, and accepted some water and a snack while Micah made them take refuge from the sun in a patch of shade cast by some rocks.

"It's a large site," said Micah, shading his eyes with his hand as he surveyed the valley floor. "I'm very thankful that Bradley did his research before coming here. We might have been digging for all eternity."

"Don't think he would not have made us dig forever," said Farfarello. "He's a thorough man."

"It's best to do something completely and well. Half-hearted tasks are a waste of effort and time," said Nagi, in the tone of one who has learned such maxims off as a lesson.

Both Farfarello and Micah hid smiles until the lad had turned away to busy himself with his _dov_. "My brother can do no wrong in the lad's eyes, can he?" smiled Micah then. "That is very certainly something he has taught Nagi."

"One cannot buy such devotion," said Farfarello. "Ah, we were all young once."

"To whom were you so devoted in your far-distant youth?" said Micah, grinning broadly. "I am surprised you can remember such ancient days!"

"There are times I feel old indeed," said Farfarello. "I used to think there were those in the Schlo who were worth a measure of personal loyalty. Those who would let me alone to fight the other students as I saw fit, those who did not laugh at what I said I saw." He paused, waiting until Nagi had drawn a little further away. "That was before I was given to Crawford to be used. And used up."

"You like fighting, don't you?" said Micah. "You were glad to have the chance to be useful, surely?"

"Surely," said Farfarello easily. "There were plenty of people to kill, and I knew I was properly engaged about tasks that would benefit our people. It occurred to me finally, however, that I was not expected to see the new order our people would bring upon the world, that I would in the course of things be long dead, for I was a commodity rather than a valued member of our organisation, having no supernatural power." He took another mouthful of water, continuing quietly, "After another while I realised that was a disappointment to me, for I had grown accustomed to the company of Crawford and Schuldig - and then of Nagi - and was loath to leave it. And then I saw I was not a tool, a thing, to them but a compatriot and a friend. That was unexpected, but not unwelcome." He gave Micah his very best smile, thinking it would be a simple thing to send Nagi off about some task and have uninterrupted time alone with Micah. Then he told himself that the man was now one of them and he must not kill him. Crawford would not be happy.

"Why didn't they send you away from the Schlo?" asked Micah. "You should surely have been put in with the lesser students down in the village. They might have forced some ability from you, as they did with me."

"I interested them," said Farfarello. "Once I no longer felt pain I was a puzzle to be solved. I think they wanted to replicate what they had done to me, seeing visions of implacable footsoldiers impervious to pain for them to use. I was the perfect student, so quick to learn, so deferential." He grinned wolfishly. "So very obviously insane, a one-off fluke that the more cautious of the masters felt should not be used as a pattern for other boys."

Micah laughed shortly, a mere breath with no humour in it. "They will have tried their hardest to emulate their success with me," he said. "Perhaps they will have achieved their aim with other children. It was very harsh," he said, looking to where Nagi threw stones down the slope. "I thought it was necessary, that it would all lead to better things. I wasn't given anyone to grow close to, as you have grown close to one another. Farfarello, are you sure this plan of Bradley's is the right thing?"

"I trust him," said Farfarello simply. "He does not lead us astray. If he says we are but slaves and should seek our freedom, then he is right." He smiled faintly. "Or perhaps I am merely a weapon who cannot think for itself and is being deceived by a clever man for his own ends. Better to be used by one clever man than by a whole organisation of them, and at least Crawford feigns an interest in me." He looked more closely at Micah, saying, "I am cynical. He does not feign interest, he does not deceive us, his friends. Trust him, Micah."

"He was always a clever boy," mused Micah. "I hope he has only increased in guile and intelligence. We shall need that." He closed his eyes wearily, murmuring, "And he does not feign interest, you are right. He has not, from the time we met again, rejected the idea of my claims upon him as a brother. Many men would have done so, even those trained by our -- by those that were our organisation."

"He believes prejudice to be irrational," said Farfarello. "As do we all, though Crawford perhaps takes it to extremes. Why, he even thinks Germans have a place in the scheme of things! Speaking of which, perhaps we should go back. No doubt Schuldig is missing us as objects of torment. They'll be well rested by the time we return."

"As you wish," said Micah cheerfully. "Nagi! Come, let's get the beasts saddled once more, we'll go back now."

Farfarello watched them busy themselves with the tack for the _dov_ , swinging himself up into the saddle and fixing his eye upon Micah's back as that gentleman led the way down the slope towards the valley floor. "No," thought Farfarello. "I must not kill him. I must not." Feeling that he should distract himself somehow, he called out to the others that he would race them, and, spurring his _dov_ on, scurried past Micah, hearing both he and Nagi call out in amused outrage that he cheated, and order their _dov_ to great speed in turn.

With laughter and catcalls the young men clung to their _dov_ as the great beasts rushed down the hill at breakneck speed, as if they too wished to distract their minds from thoughts of violence and murder. It was exhilarating and terrifying, and suited Farfarello's purposes perfectly.

  


* * *

  
Some Hiberno-English terms:

gurrier: common brat (a very disapproving term)  
bold: naughty  
eejit: idiot  
Kingstown: now Dun Laoghaire (a town outside Dublin from where ferries leave for Holyhead in Wales)  
messages: errands (especially getting things from shops)  
taking soup from the Protestants: a reference to ill-judged 19th century charity/famine relief that involved conversion to the Church of Ireland (a Catholic convert to the CofI I know was called a "Souper" only last year . . .)  
lashing: raining very heavily


	43. Chapter 43

_Schlo Rosenkreuz, 1872_

  
"What is it you do?" asked Schuldig, prowling around the new boy, noting the soft roundness of his face and the softness also of his frame, indicating he had lead heretofore a life idler than those of the students in the Schlo. In height he was the equal of Schuldig, but his nervous, timid air made him seem younger. "How old are you?"

"I'm fourteen," said the boy with an eager smile, his accent betraying his Belgian origins. "My name is --"

"I'm not interested in that yet," snapped Schuldig, annoyed to find the boy a little older than himself, for he was still but thirteen, though he was told he would be fourteen shortly. "Well, Herr 'I'm Fourteen', what do you do?"

"Do?" said the boy, sounding more nervous than before, his gaze darting between Schuldig and the other boys perched on their neatly-made, narrow beds. "I'm not sure what you mean --"

"Idiot!" laughed one of the others, Bernhard by name, "Schuldig here reads minds - what do you do?"

"You can read minds?" said the boy, his eyes round with wonder.

"You can't?" mocked Schuldig. "Now, stop worrying about whether or not you'll wet the bed tonight and tell me what you _do_ do."

The boy blushed deepest scarlet as the others hooted with cruel laughter, knowing well that here was a fault no boy was likely to forget quickly, nor to forgive, should he indeed prove so weak. "You didn't have to --" he muttered.

"No, but I wanted to. Come on, or can you in fact do nothing?"

"They told me I'm sensitive," the boy said.

"You look sensitive!" cried another boy. "You look very soft indeed -- why not go to the older boys' dormitories and ask them if they agree?"

"Huh," said Schuldig, pulling out his knife and tossing it to the other boy who caught it with an awkward grasp of both hands. "Well, then. Tell me what you can deduce." The boy looked at him in misery, and clutched the knife tightly. It was plain to Schuldig that he did not yet fully grasp the truth of his situation, nor the reality of what the instructors said he could do. "You're not going home," said Schuldig softly. "You are never going home again. Stop thinking about it - even someone as deaf as Jakob here can hear you. Yes, yes, he's a mind reader too. Not like me, though! Now, do as I tell you."

The boy blinked back sudden tears and fixed an angry and hopeless glare upon the knife, running one careful finger up and down the blade. "You are full of anger and hate," he whispered. "This knife has been used against other people. It has caused injury and that made you happy. You have not used it against the one person you most long to kill, though when you have stabbed it into someone it is almost as good as hurting that person." The boy looked up quizzically at Schuldig, saying, "You want to stab a man with brown hair and a dry and boring voice. Why - who is he? Is he one of the teachers here?"

"That's enough," said Schuldig, taking the knife back. He scowled at the floor, wondering if he would now have to fight all the boys in his dormitory, and cursing both the new boy for revealing a weakness of his and himself for allowing it to happen. "So you're not as useless as you seem. He can have the bed by the door, hey, fellows?"

The other boys grinned as the new boy protested, "But there's a terrible draught there!"

"So why should _we_ have to sleep in it? When there's another little boy put in here, you can make him sleep nearest the door," said Schuldig. The boy sighed and sat on that bed, resignedly. "I wish I were at home with Mamma," he thought. Schuldig smiled slyly, saying, "I told you, you're not going home. And you should be ashamed to call your mother "Mamma" like a baby!" He laughed as the boy looked up, startled. "You did not really believe I am a mind reader, did you? I am, and so is Jakob. Simeon knows what people are feeling."

"And you?" said the new boy, looking at Bernhard, who grinned cheerfully back.

"He can stop your heart, if he gets his hands on you," said Schuldig. "Try not to draw him as a partner when we have combat training." He drew off his boots, quickly disrobing as did the other boys, changing into their night attire as if at some signal only they had heard, the new boy slowly following their lead.

"Hurry up," scowled Jakob. "You'll get us all in trouble."

They were all scarcely tucked in their beds when the door opened suddenly and a thick-set boy of some sixteen years opened the door, scowling to see them all under their blankets. "Lights out," he said. "No talking." With that he extinguished the gas lamp and closed the door once again. They all lay silent and still, hearing his booted steps recede down the hallway.

"What's your name, new boy?" asked Schuldig at last, when it seemed safe, and the dull resentful thoughts of the prefect were far distant.

"Antoine," said the boy. "Must we always speak German here? I am not very good at it."

"All the lessons are in German," said Schuldig. "Perhaps you can take French literature with the girls, if that would make you happy." He smiled as the others laughed. It was important to make them always think of him as fast-witted and agile, lest they seek to take advantage of his younger age for, in the manner of boys everywhere, they esteemed a gap in age of mere months to be of the utmost importance.

"Is your name really Schuldig?" asked Antoine. "That's not a real name, is it, it's just a word, surely?"

"It's my name," said Schuldig firmly. "And if you're going to insult me we can fight right now, or leave it till the morning."

"Oh, I meant no insult!" cried Antoine quickly, drawing hissed admonitions for silence from the others.

"Tomorrow, then," said Schuldig, turning over. It wouldn't be difficult to beat Antoine, he thought. The boy still no doubt believed in fair play and not hitting below the belt.

  
Within weeks Antoine looked thinner and older, becoming hardened by the rigorous training the students of the Schlo underwent. Schuldig noted with approval that he was always respectful when they spoke together, his greater age giving way before Schuldig's greater length of time in training. He had not had to thrash Antoine since the first time, the older boy willingly attaching himself in the manner of an acolyte to Schuldig's side. He was useful, Schuldig supposed, though it was annoying to see the hopeful looks he turned upon Schuldig, as if he thought they were friends. Schuldig supposed he had had friends once upon a time, but it was not anything he liked to think of, finding himself feeling sick and faint if he dwelt upon the matter for too long. Antoine, however, did not require much thought and was unlikely ever to pose a threat. He would be, Schuldig supposed, destined to be given to some man whose skills and training lay in the seeking out of obscure knowledge. He grinned to himself, picturing Antoine holding items of antiquity and saying what he saw. He himself, Schuldig was sure, would go on to far greater things and would be revered by all those who currently sat in the classroom with him. Perhaps, when he was a man with his own team he would ask for Antoine to be assigned to him. Right now, however, he was hiding his smile like all the other boys as Frulein Albrecht brought the cane down again and again on Antoine's outstretched hand. The Belgian boy shook with suppressed whimpers, biting his lip so that he would make no sound past the sharply indrawn breaths that were all that the students were allowed utter whilst undergoing punishment. Finally Antoine was allowed resume his seat, where he sat, silent with downcast eyes, until they were dismissed.

"I warned you to speak German," said Schuldig, off-hand.

"I only said, "Oui, Mademoiselle"!" cried Antoine. "I was not being disrespectful, I cannot help that I think in French!" He swallowed a sob and dashed at the tears standing in his eyes.

"Oh, let me see it," said Schuldig roughly, seizing Antoine's hand. "Why, it is not so bad - she only caned you six times!" He pushed at the other boy's shoulder, adding, "Don't be such a baby! Come on, let us go for luncheon."

In the dining hall they ate the plain food provided for students, dividing their attention between their plates and the other boys, lest any attempt to creep up on them unannounced. Schuldig frowned to see Frulein Albrecht enter, and instead of sitting at the instructors' table as she usually did, make her way over to speak to Herr Dorfmann, who stood in conversation with one of his favourite pupils, an evil-tempered older boy. Seeing Dorfmann come their way, Schuldig hissed, "Stand!" Both boys stood ramrod-straight as Dorfmann looked them up and down in disapproval. Schuldig kept his thoughts placid and respectful, feeling great annoyance as Antoine's thoughts ran in circles like a small, scared creature.

"Fournier," said Herr Dorfmann. "You have been giving Frulein Albrecht trouble in class, I hear?"

"Sir, I didn't mean to!" cried Antoine. "I'm just so used to replying to teachers in French!"

"It was the third time," said Herr Dorfmann. "Once may have been excusable. Three times certainly is not. No more French, Fournier, unless you are in French class. Come to my parlour at five o'clock this evening, and we will address your inability to do as you are instructed."

"Yes, sir," whispered Antoine as Dorfmann walked away. "Is he going to hit me, do you think?" he said to Schuldig when they were alone once more.

Schuldig looked at him silently, then said, "Yes, yes, I expect so," as gently as he could. "Finish your lunch," he went on. "You probably won't feel like eating later." It _was_ useful, having Antoine trail him around, he thought. It deflected unwanted attention from the instructors at the very least. He pushed his plate aside, letting the other boy finish it.

He was no longer hungry.

  


* * *

  
 _The ruined city, 1880_

  
Schuldig wiped a hand across his brow, grimacing at the feel of his hair sticking damply to his skin with perspiration. Crawford had insisted that they go through each room of the temple in what he deemed a thorough and scientific manner, with the result that they were still drawing each of the figures in the first hall they had come to. He looked over to where Crawford balanced precariously on the very top of a ladder, taking down an inscription into one of his endless succession of notebooks.

"Crawford," said Schuldig, walking to the base of the ladder. "Come down! You will destroy what is left of your eyesight!"

"I am almost finished," said Crawford distractedly. Finally he slowly came down the ladder, stretching and yawning when he reached the safety of the floor.

"Must we take all this down?" asked Schuldig, handing Crawford a jug of water. "Is there anything of use here, or is it all for your own amusement?"

"There are many references here to myths found in other places, as well as to previously unknown material," said Crawford, pouring a little water on to his handkerchief and patting at the back of his neck. "How hot it is!"

"Do not change the subject," said Schuldig with a sigh. "This _is_ all to assuage your lust for ancient knowledge, is it not?" He shook his head, finding it very queer that such a sensible man as Crawford could forsake all reason when it came to knowledge that had no use in furthering his aims.

Crawford sighed and looked very tired all of a sudden. "You want to explore the whole temple complex, I know," he said. "No doubt you picture the vast treasures that await us somewhere in here."

"That would be nice," said Schuldig with a grin. He thought of both of them showered with golden coins, letting Crawford see his thoughts, and making the thought as silly as possible, to elicit Crawford's amusement.

"I've been trying to see where we should go next," said Crawford, smiling a little at the images and tucking Schuldig's hair behind his ears. "I can't see anything of use, and -- oh, Schuldig, what if it is all a fool's errand? What if there is nothing here? All our travel and work for nothing - I have built this up within my mind to a place where I can find something that will give us our freedom for once and for all. And now I find myself wondering how I can have been so stupid."

Schuldig raised his eyebrows. "Crawford," he said. "You are clearly unwell. How can you, of all people, have lost confidence? Come now, we are all tired, all hot - rest yourself and the future will become clear once again."

"It feels as though I am foreseeing - but I see nothing of use," repeated Crawford. He drank deeply, continuing, "No doubt you are right, Schuldig. We must just keep on and achieve our aims through sheer perseverance. We'll finish here and go on - Nagi may have a lot of work to do if we must go through what were once open courtyards!"

"He'll be overjoyed to oblige you," smiled Schuldig. "It is simply unnatural for a boy to want to be so helpful!"

"I hope he may never grow out of it," said Crawford with an answering little smile, "and that you may one day grow in to such a habit."

"I am wounded," said Schuldig. "Cut to the quick by your cruelty. Let's put helpful little Nagi to work."

"Does he have any idea how old he really is?" asked Crawford suddenly.

"No," said Schuldig, "or at least he has never thought of himself as being a particular age that I am aware of - he varies between petulant thoughts that he is not a baby when he has been teased too much, and sheer pleasure at being babied at other times. Why?"

Crawford shrugged, saying, "I just would like him to have the chance to claim he is very young and perhaps avoid punishment thereby, should things go very wrong."

"I do not like your current views on the future," said Schuldig heatedly. "What have you been keeping from me?"

"Nothing," said Crawford looking down. "Truly, Schuldig. Let us not start fighting again." He turned aside, saying, "The others have finished in the outer hallway. Don't let them think anything is wrong."

"Nothing, I hope," muttered Schuldig, " _is_ wrong. Nagi!" he cried, as Nagi looked round in the gloom and came their way. "We have a task for you!"

"What is it?" said Nagi, his voice a mix of eagerness and caution.

"We're going to explore the rest of the temple properly, and you must help us clear the way if need be - Crawford doesn't want us to miss any idols of gold simply because they are covered in tons of sand!" Schuldig fought to keep a smile from his face as Nagi thought, in great detail, of the golden idols he would find for Crawford. "Come on," he said, leading Nagi away, and telling himself he did not feel vaguely slighted to see Crawford stop following them to fall deeply into conversation with Micah. "Be glad Crawford is happy to have found a brother," he told himself. "You are in no way threatened by that." Becoming aware that Nagi had spoken, he looked down at the lad, saying, "What was that? I was miles away, I am sorry."

"How will we carry all this gold back with us?" repeated Nagi. "We will need much room for water - will there be enough room on the cart for the gold as well?"

"Assuredly," said Schuldig. "And if there is not, why you can carry it all back to New London for us!" He grinned at Nagi's suspicious look.

"Are you joking?" asked Nagi cautiously. "It's a very long way."

"I'm sure you can manage it. It's all right, Nagi, I'm joking, of course. We shall only ask you to carry it half way."

Nagi gave his quiet little laugh and ran to the hallway leading from the huge pillared room. "Come on, Schuldig," he said. "The treasure will go off!"

Schuldig followed him, shaking his head over such youthful exuberance. He had always been of the opinion that one should do as little as possible until the situation demanded otherwise, at which time one should do one's utmost, so that one could return to indolence once more. "Such an eager child," he thought, as Nagi gestured for him to catch up, "I wonder if I would have been like that, if I had never gone to the Schlo? I wonder how quickly it would have been beaten out of him if we had sent him there? Not that we would ever have done such a thing!" He looked back, seeing Farfarello amuse himself by idly scratching obscene words into a pillar and Micah throw back his head in laughter at something Crawford had said. Crawford smiled and clapped Micah on the shoulder, looking then over at Schuldig and smiling more broadly. It was good, Schuldig thought, to see Crawford look more cheerful and for him to be distracted from his unsuccessful attempts to foresee their future.

"Schuldig!" called Nagi. "Stop being so lazy and come on!"

Laughing, Schuldig jogged after him, feeling all at once that he was a lucky man, surrounded by friends. He would let nothing bad happen to any of them, he thought. That was how friends served each other.


	44. Chapter 44

_Schlo Rosenkreuz, 1865_

  
"You've been pretending the headaches have become no worse," said the doctor, frowning down at the boy sitting naked and shivering upon the edge of the clammy leather examination couch. "You have been lying to your instructors."

"No, sir," said the boy at once.

"Don't lie to _me_ , Crawford. Read the chart on the wall."

Crawford squinted hard, reading, "Z . . . K . . . N . . . P . . ."

"You can't even see the second line," said the doctor impatiently. "What is more, it is known that you are a disrespectful liar, and it has been known for some time. Nothing to say? Good. Hold still." He popped a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles onto Crawford's nose. "Read again."

Crawford read, obediently. The doctor made notes and took away the first pair of spectacles, putting another pair upon him. "And again. Do the headaches worsen if you are in bright light?"

"Yes," muttered Crawford. "Sometimes the visions come with flashes of light as well."

"Just light, or sound too?" asked the doctor, scribbling upon a pad of paper.

"Usually light," said Crawford. "I only remember sound coming once, today." He struggled for words, finally continuing, "it sounded like metal." He paused, frustrated. "I do not know how to explain it," he said, feeling he could not even remember properly for himself how it had been, only that it had been terrible.

"And that was when you were found in the dormitory?"

"Yes," said Crawford, not liking to think how he had been discovered curled into a tight ball under his bed. Of the vision itself he remembered nothing, just the pain and brightness.

"Well, well, well," said the doctor. "If you had been a sensible boy and come to the sanatorium earlier you would not have suffered such an unpleasant experience. Let us try this pair now. Read the chart on the other wall."

Crawford read, wishing he could get dressed. He had been prodded and poked and forced to endure a cold stethoscope, and to sit now in a draught feeling his flesh turn to ice seemed the final indignity. At last the doctor sat back, regarding him with a gaze as chilly as the air in the room.

"Your health seems acceptable enough," he said. "Your heart is steady, there is no problem that I can detect in your lungs and you seem to have no shortness of breath. You shall not attempt to disguise any problems with your fitness again," he continued. "You may feel admitting weaknesses to be shameful or troublesome with the other students, but I assure you that you would find it more troublesome to be blind. Spectacles to correct your vision will be supplied. You _shall_ wear them, Crawford. Why you have not been wearing them for years is beyond me. My fool of a predecessor should have had you wearing them from the moment you were taken, then you would not be half-blind at the age of eleven."

"I'm twelve now, sir," said Crawford quickly, "and my sight used to be better," he continued, hating the feel of the spectacles upon his nose and the way they pinched behind his ears. "I'm sure I didn't need them before I was a student here. Also, my mother considered it unbecoming for a boy to wear spectacles."

"Then she is a vain American fool," said the doctor. "Get dressed. You should find that the headaches are lessened once you have your proper spectacles, and the aversion to light should also subside. If you are subject to any more convulsions you will be put on a course of potassium bromide, but let us not waste resources until that becomes necessary." He smiled thinly, adding, "It is often the case that students find themselves in need of medication as they find themselves becoming pubescent. Something to look forward to, hey?" He shook his head as the boy held out the spectacles he had been wearing during the examination. "No. Wear those until the proper ones are ready. You should at least be able to see the boards in the classrooms. Don't break them, boy, or you'll be punished."

"Yes, sir," said Crawford politely, seething with fury that he knew was safe enough, as long he did not show it upon his face, and wishing he could pay the doctor back properly for his slight upon his mother. At the doctor's gesture of dismissal he went out, dreading the response of the other students when they should see him now branded with a sign of imperfection and weakness. He did not have long to wait, for the other boys and girls in his class stared at him avidly as he slipped into his place for the remainder of their course on political theory, and one of the mind readers smiled slyly, his voice in Crawford's head telling him suddenly they were all looking forward to the exercise break that would follow.

In the courtyard reserved for the boys Crawford attempted to keep all his classmates in view, without displaying fear, as they began to circle about him. He felt annoyed at how clear and sharp his vision was now with the hated spectacles, letting him know how foolish he had previously been when he lied not only to others, as was necessary, but also to himself, telling himself that his sight was not so very bad, for he hated to be proved wrong in any opinion.

"Four eyes," he heard from behind him.

"Unimaginative fool," he said, keeping his voice level.

He was shoved hard all at once, though no hand touched him, and then they rushed him as one. Crawford found himself spun round by one blow, and was left gasping as another boy brought his knee up sharply. Then red rage overcame him and he drove his fist into the stomach of one of his tormentors, stamping down upon the instep of another with the heel of his heavy boot. All at once it seemed to him as if they moved very slowly, and that he saw quite clearly every move they would make in the seconds before they would make it. He stepped to one side to avoid a vicious kick aimed at his knee, punching that boy as he turned to kick another boy's feet out from under him. A feeling of great surety came over him, and he knew as firmly as if he had been told by an adult in whom he had the greatest trust - if any person should have existed - that as long as he obeyed his foreknowledge he should come to no further harm in the _melee._

"The exuberance of youth," remarked Dorfmann idly, as he watched the fight swirl and move about the courtyard. "Those boys are showing some progress in their abilities, are they not?"

His interlocutor grimaced. "I am not overly interested in the exploits of small boys, Dorfmann," he said. "I leave that up to you and the other instructors who must deal with them in their unformed state." He paused, watching as Crawford took advantage of the slightest moment in the fight to push his spectacles more comfortably up his nose and then to spin around and slam his fist into an unwary boy's kidneys. "Their fighting is at least of an acceptable standard," said the man, grudgingly.

"Thank you, sir," said Dorfmann.

They watched as the other boys drew back, leaving Crawford alone momentarily amidst them, a purpling bruise on one cheek showing that he was not entirely unscathed. Then, as the fight started once more, the tide turned and a boy whose bloodied nose showed he had previously received more than one blow from Crawford directed a punch not at the American boy but at another of their classmates, turning his back to Crawford and providing him with aid. As the instructors watched, another boy who had clearly not been fired with much enthusiasm for the fight, and who had hung back as much as would not bring him unwanted notice, also joined their little group and it was suddenly not so easy for the other boys to seek to flank their prey in the attack. Dorfmann cast a quick glance upon the other man, finding his gaze intent upon the scene.

"This is interesting," the man said. "What will our other little wolf cubs do?" The question was not long in being answered as another boy and then another switched sides, until finally those who had not backed off and fled, leaving their classmates in victorious possession of the field. The boy who had joined with Crawford first looked at him with an expression that carried within it an equal measure of obsequiousness and bravado, speaking with what seemed to be forced _bonhomie_ and clapping the other boy upon the shoulder.

"Will he accept this little faction?" mused the man, smiling unpleasantly as Crawford's own face broke into a smile that contained no warmth, and he clasped the eager boy's hand in his own. "He is not a fool, good. But what is this?"

From across the courtyard came another, older boy, who called out something in a jeering tone, making an obscene gesture and beckoning to Crawford. The younger boys stood transfixed, their gaze upon the young American who stared back at this new threat with eyes that seemed too cold and harsh for one of his young years. A moment before it seemed that his youthful followers would desert him, he gestured abruptly, giving voice to a peremptory order. As one the boys dashed forward, overwhelming the older, taller lad by sheer force of numbers. There was one last sight of his shocked face, and then he went down under their fists and feet, the laughter of his classmates at his predicament drowned out by the shrill yells and curses uttered in high-pitched boyish voices.

"We must keep an eye on young Crawford's progress, Dorfmann," said the man as he watched. "He has the makings of a leader of men. It grows cold. Come, let us go inside."

"Yes," said Dorfmann, looking back at the noisy scene across the courtyard and frowning. "I believe they are killing him, sir."

The man shrugged. "If he cannot hold his own against children what good is he to anyone? Come along, Dorfmann. The kitchens promised us seed-cake with our coffee today, did they not?"

They left, and the courtyard was once again the realm only of the students, their faces flushed with exertion and the cold. Seeing the older boys approaching _en masse_ , Crawford led his little group away quickly to safety, all of them laughing and buoyed up with their victories. Not one of them mentioned his spectacles, nor made any disparaging comment about his appearance. Crawford grinned fiercely - they were his, and would be as long as he ruled them with a mixture of tyranny and favour, and could promise them success.

He already had so many plans for how he would use them.

  


* * *

  
 _The ruined city, 1880_

  
Crawford lay between sleeping and waking, blinking up at the canvas as it moved above him, grey in the light of the hour before dawn. The air was pleasantly cool, enough so that it was most comfortable under his blankets, but heated to a degree within the tent by his presence and that of the others. Gently he slid his arm from beneath Nagi, peering from close range into the boy's face, relaxed and peaceful in sleep. No hint of dream showed to line the lad's brow, and he looked in truth very young, his cheeks round with baby fat still and his jaw smooth and free from even the merest hint of beard. "How old are you?" thought Crawford, moving Nagi's hair away from his face with a feather-light touch of a finger. The innocence of the boy, despite all that he had seen and all in which he had been of assistance, astounded Crawford, for he could not remember a time, as it seemed to him, when he had himself been but an innocent boy. "Even when I was but a child," he thought, "I benefited greatly from the enslavement of others, though I did not know it. How can I call myself innocent even then?" He drew a deep, quiet breath at the thought that if all had progressed as his family would undoubtedly have wished and as he himself had expected, he would now be a wealthy man holding many others in the chains of bondage. "Micah would be, I expect, one of the most favoured of my slaves," he thought in disgust, "and would have special leave to call me still "Mr Bradley" rather than "Mr Crawford" - and I would think I treated him well thereby!" He strove for calm, seeing both Nagi and Schuldig frown in their sleep and shift restlessly. Lying back, he fumbled beside him for his spectacle case, slipping them on to his face. At once the canvas over him sprang into sharp relief and even the sounds of the wind became, as it seemed, clearer. He let his mind drift, seeking even the merest scraps of foreknowledge that might make themselves known to him, but saw only sand, felt only the greatest of heat such as the Martian noon might afford and found his eyes prickling unaccountably with melancholic loneliness. The thought that he would find comfort in Schuldig's embrace occurred, but how, he wondered, should he accomplish that without disturbing the other sleepers by his side? Finally he sighed quietly and put his spectacles away again, turning over to put a careful arm across Nagi, resting his hand upon Schuldig's waist and closing his eyes. When he woke once more it was to find Schuldig watching him, his face still and half-shrouded in tangled strands of copper hair.

"What is it?' said Schuldig's voice within his mind. "Have you seen something bad?"

"No," answered Crawford in like manner. "It is nothing. I did not sleep well, that is all."

"You always sleep well," thought Schuldig accusingly. Then it seemed to Crawford as if he had the sensation that the mind reader shrugged, though it truth he did not shift a muscle. "No doubt it pleases you to think you can keep cares away from me, you foolish man." He leaned across Nagi to reach Crawford thinking, "You do not always have to be the one who wears himself out with cares and worries. Am I not your friend, whom you trust?"

"Yes," said Crawford.

"Good," said Schuldig, kissing him. He drew back then, his laughter sounding in Crawford's mind. "Good morning, Nagi," he said brightly.

Looking to the side Crawford saw the lad watching them with solemn eyes. "Good morning, Nagi," he echoed, gravely.

"Good morning," said Nagi. "Are we to get up?"

"I suppose so," sighed Schuldig. "You know how Crawford likes to work us from dawn to dusk. We shall be fainting with exhaustion and hunger, Nagi, and still he will want us to go on, as he stands over us with a whip and threats."

"I shall start by forcing you to make coffee," said Crawford.

"You want to drink Schuldig's coffee?" asked Nagi, still too dazed with sleep to make the question sound other than incredulous. He blushed as both Crawford and Schuldig laughed.

"Come! Up!" said Crawford, feeling his spirits much lifted. He rose quickly, drawing the boy up after him. "Maybe _you_ should make the coffee," he said with a smile as Nagi at once darted out, the determination to make the perfect coffee for Crawford to drink clear in every line of his frame.

"What is the matter?" said Schuldig, when they were alone. "Do not dissimulate, Crawford! What terrible thing have you seen?"

"Nothing," said Crawford, "truly, Schuldig. Just the desert, and its dreadful heat, and I feel --"

"What?" said Schuldig.

"Lonely," shrugged Crawford. "How stupid, when I have all of you. I haven't seen anything befalling any of you, after all. It's just -- lonely."

" _Dummkopf_ ," murmured Schuldig putting his hand upon Crawford's cheek. "How can you imagine I will not be with you to keep you from falling into holes when you see some old pot to lust after?"

"I have been dreaming of the Schlo," said Crawford, with no knowledge he would say it until he saw Schuldig's face change.

"Crawford," said Schuldig, with sympathy, then with growing sharpness, "of its past or of its future?"

"Its past," said Crawford. "It was just a dream, not a vision, Schuldig. I would not keep such a thing from you."

"Indeed not," muttered Schuldig, embracing him tightly for a moment. "Ah, Brad."

"Let us go and see to whom Nagi has listened most closely on the topic of the making of breakfast," said Crawford, feeling he should not give in to self-indulgence and weakness, though the temptation to not release his friend from his arms was strong. He led the way outside and was soon sitting with a cup of hot, dark coffee given him proudly by Nagi. "It's very good," he said, watching as the lad smiled in delight. "He must have been paying close attention to you," murmured Crawford to Micah, who smiled down into his own cup.

"In India those upon whom I was set in observation had the devil's own thirst for both tea and coffee," said Micah. "Sometimes it seemed to me that I made it from morning to night. If you feel you would like some real variety in the meals I can make a fair attempt at a curry that will give the spiced food of the natives a run for its money."

"I am most dreadfully glad you are here and that you stand with us, Micah," said Crawford, the melancholy that had dogged him receding at last with the breaking of his fast.

"What? Because you are stricken dumb with astonishment that it is possible for a man to prepare food without rendering it inedible like the efforts of you three?" laughed Micah.

"Well, of course," said Crawford with a smile, "but more so because seeing you again has made me know once more how strongly I missed you. You are like the best of dreams come to life."

"No, that shall be our assured freedom," said Micah.

"Yes," said Crawford at once. "That will be the best."

"When we have achieved our aims," said Micah quietly, looking down. "Will you come with me to Virginia, Bradley? I know there is nothing there for you any more, but I would greatly like to see my parents, and I am sure they would be overjoyed to see you again, alive and well."

"I will, and gladly," said Crawford. "You will not object, I hope, to the presence of the others on this expedition?"

"No," said Micah, looking up again with a smile. "Certainly not. Your friends will always have the warmest of welcomes from me."

Crawford nodded in satisfaction, feeling the sensation of loneliness dissipate entirely. It was the isolation enforced upon him as a leader of a team, he thought. He no longer had to live in such a manner, he was surrounded by friends to whom he did not have to act as a despot, by turns benevolent and tyrannical.

He could be at last merely a man among equals.


	45. Chapter 45

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
Nagi hid a smile behind one grimy hand as Schuldig gaily sang while examining their latest finds with deep concentration, his voice cracking on the higher notes.

" _Du, du liegst mir im Herzen, Du, du liegst mir im Sinn,_ " carolled Schuldig as all the others winced. He picked up a heavy gold ring, trying it on each of his fingers in turn. " _Du, du machst mir viel Schmerzen_ \--"

"No, _you_ cause _us_ pain," muttered Farfarello. "Crawford, cannot you make him stop?"

" _Weit nicht wie gut ich dir bin,_ " chirped Schuldig, singing faster as if he felt it needful to reach the end of the verse before Crawford could beseech him to be silent.

"Are you going to stop any time soon?" said Crawford, clearly trying to hide his amusement.

" _Ja, ja, ja, ja,_ " sang Schuldig, laughing, and with a flourish finished, " _Weit nicht wie gut ich dir bin!_ So true, Crawford. You do not appreciate me in the slightest."

"It's true I have my doubts about the wisdom of your career as an operatic soprano," said Crawford.

"A soprano?" cried Schuldig. "I am a baritone!"

"Pah!" ejaculated Farfarello. "You should make your mind up, you tried to hit almost every note on the scale."

"It's true I have a broad range," said Schuldig modestly.

"I did not say you _succeeded_ ," said Farfarello. "Look. You have scared Nagi, and Micah may choke, he is trying so hard not to laugh."

"I'm not scared!" cried Nagi quickly, as Micah stuttered, "I'm not laughing," and spoiled his claim with a helpless guffaw.

"Must you make us remember Herr Zahn?" grumbled Farfarello as it seemed likely that Schuldig was merely recovering his breath in order to sing once more.

"He was the music master in the Schlo," explained Crawford as Micah looked at him in surprise. "As it was not known in what situations we might find ourselves in later years, a wide range of skills were taught us. Nothing could induce the man to be silent, once he had started on his favourite theme of how music was the noblest calling on which a man could embark, and that proficiency in it was the mark of a true gentleman."

"We too had such lessons, though enough merely to teach us to read music and remain reasonably in tune," said Micah. "Why,I think it must have been the same instructor, for I am sure he was introduced to us as a Herr Zahn! A small, elderly man?"

"Yes," said Farfarello. "At least a hundred years old, it seemed to me. With an ebony walking cane with which he would beat out the time for us to keep -- and beat the students too!"

"You - _thwack_ \- will - _thwack_ \- learn - _thwack_ \- to - _thwack_ \- keep - _thwack_ \- the - _thwack_ \- beat!" cried Schuldig in an affected falsetto voice, miming the action of striking a cowering form before him. "Why am I given such donkeys and monkeys to torture the ears of the divine Euterpe and Melpomene with their braying and chattering?" He smiled modestly, continuing, "Not that he ever beat me, for he said I sang like an angel. No offense, Farfarello!"

"A fallen one, I assure you," muttered Farfarello as Micah grinned and said, "What tragedy happened to rob you of your skill, Schuldig?"

Schuldig put a slender hand to his forehead, swaying as if the shock of such criticism would fell him and steadfastly ignoring the laughter of the others. Nagi pressed his hands against his mouth to stop his giggles, for he felt it unkind to mock Schuldig's performance, though he well knew the young man was enjoying the attention and wished to make his friends laugh.

"Little Schuldig grew too old," said Farfarello with an evil smile. "I am sure Herr Zahn proposed some desperate measures," he continued, miming with his fingers the action of a scissors.

"Crawford," said Schuldig with the sweetest of smiles, "my singing is delightful, is it not? I am sure you will not fail me, my friend!"

"It's no worse now that when I first knew you," said Crawford, a little grin playing about his mouth. "You have maintained the same standard admirably."

"Philistines," said Schuldig without heat. "None of you understand culture. Nagi, _mein Herz_ , come with me." So saying he walked from the chamber in which they had stored the smaller items they had found in the temple.

"He is in a good humour," said Micah cheerfully.

"Yes," said Crawford with complacence. "This is how he should be, gay and carefree. Go on, Nagi, Schuldig wants you."

Nagi ran after Schuldig, finding the young German standing in full sunlight, rapt in contemplation of a great statue of a native _grandee_ of the ancient past, running his fingers over one massive stone ankle.

"Are you going to sing again?" asked Nagi.

"Before such a small audience?" murmured Schuldig absently. " _And_ you didn't find it too appalling -- I prefer to annoy people when I sing. Can you move this?"

"Probably," said Nagi. "Why?"

"Because, little pest, I want to see if anything is under it."

"I'm not a little pest," muttered Nagi, frowning at the statue. "Does it matter if I break it?" he asked in a voice tight with concentration. "Pushing it over would be easiest."

"Best not to break it," said Schuldig. "Crawford might cry."

"Crawford doesn't cry!" said Nagi in outrage, the statue wobbling dangerously as he took his mind from it.

"Careful! Nagi, come now," said Schuldig, snatching him back. "You know we all tease each other, it means nothing. Do you think I'd really insult Crawford?" He smiled ruefully as thoughts of all the times Nagi had seen him do just such a thing rose unbidden to the lad's mind. "Well, do you think I'd mean it for more than a moment of heat, when we are such great friends? Come along, it is foolishness on my part to think there could be something hidden there. The statue is far too heavy to be moved without such a clever boy as you to do it." So saying he seized Nagi's hand and tugged the boy along after him.

"Schuldig," said Nagi, happy to accompany his friend, but a little surprised at his manner, "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, yes, of course," said Schuldig, taking out a notebook and consulting the calculations and sketches therein, "Why do you ask? Do you think I seem a little queer this morning?"

"No," said Nagi doubtfully.

"This wall," said Schuldig, pointing. "There is something wrong about this wall. I'm sure there is something behind it - Crawford and I were puzzling over the plans last night after you fell asleep. You may most certainly break it, it's quite plain." He smiled wickedly, adding, "Crawford will hardly cry at all."

Nagi concentrated, staring at the wall. It felt very solid, but he was sure he could break it down if he tried hard enough. He could feel perspiration upon his brow, not only from the great heat of the sun as it climbed higher in the sky, but also from his efforts. At last, when he felt sure he would have to disappoint Schuldig and say he was unable to succeed, he felt one of the stones in the wall shift and forced all his attention on the tiny gap now opening. All at once, and with a tremendous noise, the heavy stones moved, and ground together protestingly, some of the smaller of their number shooting outwards so that Schuldig seized Nagi round the middle and threw them both down flat on the ground.

"You are very heavy," said Nagi in a muffled little voice, feeling quite unable to breathe with Schuldig's arms wrapped about his head.

"I am a feather," laughed Schuldig, clambering off him. "A little warning would have been nice, Nagi!"

Nagi brushed his clothing free of sand, grumbling softly to himself. Schuldig had wanted the wall down, had he not? And now it was down indeed. He grumbled some more as Schuldig ruffled his hair, sending clouds of sand into the air abut his face.

"Thank you, Nagi," said Schuldig cheerfully. "I know well how much we need you, don't feel unappreciated. Here now," he continued, "are you all right? Here, have some water - you are looking very hot and tired."

"It's a heavier wall than I thought at first," said Nagi, eagerly drinking. "Let's see what's on the other side!"

"Not so fast!" said Schuldig, grabbing his arm as he rushed forward. "It looks like a sizeable place." He peered through the swirls of dust still billowing in the air from the masonry's fall. "Gold! Come on! No, wait," he said, changing his mind again. "There could be traps."

"We can set them off," said Nagi, tugging at his arm.

"That," said Schuldig "is what I am worried about."

" _Schuldig!_ " cried Nagi. "Micah's right, you are too changeable!"

"Oh, he says that, does he?" muttered Schuldig. "Let's go." So saying he strode forward, Nagi a half-step behind. "Stay behind me," said Schuldig. "I don't want some curse falling upon you."

"Don't be silly," said Nagi eagerly. "Crawford says such beliefs are ridiculous."

"You won't be saying that when you die of a hideous wasting disease," laughed Schuldig. "Careful! That stone looks ready to fall!"

"I won't let it," said Nagi. "You are quite safe with me, Schuldig."

"Such cheek! Ah!" ejaculated Schuldig, a fit of coughing overcoming him as they stepped beyond the circle of daylight that encroached upon the dimness within. "Be damned to all this dust!" He waved a hand in front of his face, his voice sounding clearly within Nagi's mind to continue, "Let us not rely on speech, it will be more comfortable like this. I have a candle somewhere --" He searched the stub of a candle out of his pocket, and Nagi eagerly took out a box of matches, striking one against the nearest stone and lighting the wick that Schuldig had smoothed out. He looked eagerly around as Schuldig held the candle up, and a soft, faint light suffused the darker area in which they found themselves. Nagi's eyes widened as he took in large items of gold and he felt very glad that he - though he graciously thought he would allow Schuldig some small part in the endeavour - had discovered precious idols for Crawford at last.

"Is it a tomb?" he cried aloud, spying a massive sarcophagus of stone, and coughing then from the disturbed dust.

"I hope so," said Schuldig's voice in his mind. "I am very fond of hidden tombs filled with treasures." He opened a box made of stone carved as thin as the finest porcelain and whistled, taking from it an elaborate necklace of wide, flat golden beads. "How charming you look!" he thought, putting it carefully about Nagi's neck.

"Bah! Stop!" thought Nagi. "I'm not some girl!" He fumbled in irritation with the gleaming thing, finally getting it off. Even the wire upon which the beads were strung, he saw, was golden.

"We will cover you in gold from head to toe, so that all anyone will see of you will be your eyes," thought Schuldig gaily, "and we will introduce you to society as a delicate princess from a foreign land."

Nagi snorted an uncouth laugh, peering further into the chamber, drawing back then in shock. "Ah!" he ejaculated. "Look!" He took as deep a breath as he might, given the dust-laden air and tried not to look as if he had been overly alarmed as Schuldig quickly stepped before him, then turned back to favour him with a relieved smile.

"This fellow won't bother you," said Schuldig aloud, going to squat beside the body huddled by the side of the sarcophagus. "See?" he went on in thought alone, "he is quite dried out, his skin is preserved like leather! I wonder if he is some hapless thief walled up with his objects of desire for all eternity, or if he has been here from the start, a faithful servant?" Leaving the body, he stepped delicately over heaped wooden items that seemed set to crumble to dust should they be so much as breathed upon, and exclaimed, "Ach! Another!" He crouched down again, his face alight with interest. " _Komm_ , Nagi, they can't hurt you."

Nagi came forward hesitantly, unsure that he wanted to see anyone dead and so horrid in appearance as the half-glimpsed Martian that had first startled him. As Schuldig smiled at him kindly, however, he told himself he must not be such a great baby, and took a firm step up to the young German. "What was he doing?" he said, looking in fascination at the way in which the dead hands reached for the wall.

"His fingernails are all broken," said Schuldig, lifting one light, desiccated hand. "He has been scratching at the wall -- see this thin line in the stones! This was the door that was walled up! He was trying to get out." He turned the head, face set in an anguished grimace and nodded, pursing his lips at the sight of the dented skull. "Someone took care he would stay here. No doubt he came to enough to know he was being walled in and tried to scratch at the stone to vainly seek his freedom."

"Was he in a lot of pain?" asked Nagi, staring closer at the twisted features.

"It would not have been the quickest of deaths," said Schuldig, off-hand. He went back to the first body, examining it with care. "This fellow is more peaceful, as if he went to sleep and did not wake up. The builders misjudged a poison draught with the other one, perhaps, and sent him to his gods in another way."

"They are dressed alike," said Nagi, taking heart from the sensible, matter-of-fact way in which Schuldig dealt with their dead companions. "And they both have such long plaits! Are they girls?"

"Let's see," said Schuldig, carefully lifting the skirt of the tunic in which the more peaceful of the bodies was clad. "No," he said, raising an eyebrow. "This one at least is not a girl, though he's not much of a man either." He rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his hands. "Dressed alike," he muttered, "Their hair arranged in the same way -- priests, perhaps, to offer their services in Heaven? Favoured servants accompanying their master in death? Either way," he went on, turning to the sarcophagus with an avid light in his eyes, " _you_ , my friend, are someone important. What do you have in there with you, I wonder?"

"Oh, let us open it at once!" cried Nagi happily. "Schuldig, do say we may! I can open it easily, I'm sure of it!"

"Yes," said Schuldig, "I want to open it at once too! But think of our friends," he said. "Crawford would want to be here when it is opened, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," sighed Nagi.

Schuldig laughed at his downcast little face, and shook him lightly, saying in a sepulchral voice, "I do not want you gobbled up by the monster that lurks within that coffin! We shall seek reinforcements!"

"You are being silly again," chided Nagi. "Monsters are figments of the weak-willed imagination."

"Oh?" said Schuldig. "It must have been some other boy that crept into my bed that night, thinking there were horrors lurking in the dark!"

"Humph," said Nagi. "That was different. Let's find Crawford." He marched off, ignoring the soft laughter from behind him, relenting only when Schuldig's arm came about his shoulders. "I hope he'll be pleased," he said as they approached the others.

"Oh, he'll be pleased," said Schuldig cheerfully. "Crawford!" he cried, making their friends look up from their tasks. "Nagi and I have been hard at work and everything we found belongs to us alone!"

"I see you've been out in the sun for too long," said Crawford in dry amusement. "What have you been doing?"

"We found a tomb!" yelled Nagi, unable to contain himself. "With bodies! And treasure, Crawford! Lots of treasure!" He blushed as everyone laughed at his excitement, but was cheered when Crawford squeezed his shoulder in encouragement.

"Tell me the story from the beginning, Nagi," he said. "There's no need to shout, I'll listen, I promise!"

Nagi told him everything he and Schuldig had done, tripping over his words in his eagerness to impress upon Crawford the excitement and wonder he had felt in the tomb, and stressing clearly that he had not been in the slightest bit scared at any point.

"Good work," said Crawford, making Nagi feel light with pleasure. "Schuldig, what were your impressions?"

"All very Egyptian," said Schuldig with a broad grin. "Well, reminiscent of that land, in any case."

"Even better," said Crawford, seizing up his notebooks and a pickaxe. "Who knows what else we may find?"

"That had better not be destined to end up in my hands," said Schuldig, looking meaningfully at Crawford's tool.

"I shall handle it myself for the time being," grinned Crawford, his wide smile making him seem the young man he in truth was.

"You always say that, yet somehow I always end up doing all the work," grumbled Schuldig, the laughter under his voice serving to show he did not mean it in the slightest. He clapped Crawford on the back and ushered him along, chattering to him in rapid German as they went.

"You are quite the little archaeologist, Nagi," said Micah with a friendly smile for the lad.

"Schuldig and Crawford had worked out where something should be," said Nagi. "I just helped him get at it."

"Such a modest lad," said Micah, ruffling up Nagi's dusty hair. "Do not sell your talents short, lad. You are a valuable asset to your friends."

"He's a friend to us," said Farfarello softly. "Come along, Nagi."

"Of course he is your friend," said Micah with an easy shrug. "A good and useful friend to have, are you not, Nagi?"

Nagi looked down shyly, pleased to have praise from all sides, and pleased too when Farfarello briefly took his elbow in a light squeezing grasp, for although the Irish youth did not speak much, it was plain to Nagi that he considered them all his bosom companions.

"Schuldig and Crawford will have opened the sarcophagus without us!" exclaimed Nagi, the fear that Schuldig would be unable to restrain his excitement suddenly washing over him. Ignoring Micah's cry that, "They will have scarcely arrived there yet!" he ran back out into the harsh sunlight. It was with great relief that he found his friends engaged in quiet conversation and examination of the bodies that lay upon the floor. "Oh, I'm glad you waited till I came!" he said.

"We could not do it without you," said Schuldig with a smile. "Did you run across here without your hat?"

"Your brains will cook and you will be left fit only for honest work," warned Crawford. "Ah, here are the others," he went on as the others arrived at a more leisurely pace, Micah bearing with him Nagi's abandoned hat. "Now," said Crawford, looking eagerly about him, let us get to work! First, we must make careful note of everything within the tomb and its position." He shook his head at the groans that rose up and handed round notebooks and pencils. "The sooner we finish, gentlemen, the sooner we can open our prize." A hot and work-filled time later, he allowed them to gather around the sarcophagus, having first moved all the goods and the body away from its vicinity.

"We should put those chairs back together and have a proper rest," said Schuldig, nodding at the gilded frames Nagi had carefully moved to the furthest side of the chamber.

"Even if they were not so frail with age I am sure they were not built to withstand the weight of bulky human men," said Crawford, "The natives are so much lighter than us, comparatively speaking. Now, Nagi and you others, let us open this and see who lies within. Nagi, I want you to be ready to set the lid down as gently as you may."

"Help us, but do not make it obvious," thought Schuldig to Nagi. "Even though he is now our friend, there is no need to show Micah _everything_ of which you are capable."

Without further ado they all bent to the task, the young men shifting the lid slowly and carefully, with Nagi's stealthy aid, while Nagi himself stood by to see that it was not damaged and to ensure it was not dropped causing injury to anyone. Inch by inch the stone moved until it could be slid and lifted with Nagi's abilities to rest on the floor beside the sarcophagus. Crawford at once climbed up and peered in, holding up a lamp to see what lay within. Without waiting for permission, nor with any thought that Schuldig might have wished to be the one to be Crawford's side, Nagi scrambled up the lid and stared avidly down at what had been revealed. Within a figure lay, thin and dry, its withered skin darkened by the passage of long years past the natural colouration of the natives. Its hair was elaborately dressed and studded with golden hairpins and the robes in which it was clad were ornate, the skirts covered over every inch with rich embroidery. A wide pectoral of gold and precious stones was arranged on its sunken chest, and on the stern and drawn face could still be seen the traces of bright paint, no doubt intended by the undertakers to give at least the barest illusion of vitality to those lifeless, dry cheeks. Heavy bracelets of gold and silver encircled each wrist, while links of gold from which were suspended many tiny bells lay around the ankles. On each of the figure's twelve stick-like fingers was a ring, and loosely clasped in one of the hands was what seemed to Nagi like a series of little cymbals attached to a carved stick. In the other hand was an item he did not understand.

"He is wearing a lot of jewellery," said Nagi happily, though not without scorn for such unmanly attire.

"Not 'he', Nagi," said Crawford. "This is a woman."

"What would a man need with such unmanned attendants, after all?" said Schuldig, nodding at the two bodies they had previously found.

"She's not very pretty," said Nagi, a little disappointed that if they were to find a princess, as his mind immediately suggested the figure must be, that she were not a beauty they could admire.

"No?" said Crawford, gently taking the mysterious item from the figure's grasp and holding it up to show it seemed to be a plaque bearing upon it the native writing and a moveable image of the sun, whose rays pointed to different characters as he gently pushed at it with a careful finger. "What do you think, Schuldig?"

Schuldig whooped with delight in seeing the golden handful. "I think," he cried, "that even without seeing her, I may say she is the loveliest woman on all of Mars!"

"Yes," breathed Crawford in triumph, moving the delicate rays slowly and with utmost care. "Thank you, Lady, for giving us the key so easily. All we need do now is find the puzzle it fits and we may leave you in peace once more to sleep away the centuries."

He smiled on them all and Nagi grinned at his suddenly infectious good humour. What the little golden thing was he still did not know, but if it made Crawford so happy it could only be good.


	46. Chapter 46

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
Crawford took the last of the water he had drawn from their supplies and poured it over his head, rinsing away the soap. It was a relief, he thought, no longer to feel quite so filthy in his own person. His clothes, like those of his friends, had seen better days, and no matter how he applied soap and water to them, the ring of grime about his collars could not be completely removed. He regarded the shirts and collars he had washed with a weary satisfaction, however, knowing well that they would dry quickly in the great heat, and he would not have to put dirty clothing on his clean skin. He was very glad to have had the thought that some at least of their clothing should be packed away to stay clean and unfaded for their return to New London, as it would be most unwise to look as if they were fresh come from an extended stay in the desert should the soldiers think to ask after any such men. He was satisfied also with the mindless repetitive nature of the task of cleaning his apparel, as it served to distract him from his growing dissatisfaction with their search. His joy at finding the ornate golden artefact designed to solve a code had dwindled as it became clearer and clearer that it was no use without the discovery of the texts upon which it was meant to be used. Those inscriptions that they had heretofore found were by no means encoded, he thought. Though they were in a tongue that had died with the ancients who had constructed the city, the relationship of that tongue to its distant and modern descendents was apparent with a little work. "Such inscriptions are in a code of only the most accidental nature," he thought, "constructed of time and antiquity. Ordinary study would prove enough to break them and reveal their meaning, if I had but the time to expend on such effort!" He sighed, smiling ruefully at the sense of regret such a thought engendered in his breast. "When did I become an antiquarian in truth?" he thought. "Schuldig is right to mock me."

"At last you see my wisdom," murmured Schuldig, having crept up silently. He laughed at how Crawford tried to cover his startlement. "How you have grown accustomed to me, to show your reactions so! You must have been deep in thought to not see me coming, Crawford."

"If I tried to foresee every occasion on which you would be rude or would mock me I should be exhausted," smiled Crawford.

"I am ahead of you once again, Herr Crawford," said Schuldig cheerfully. "I am already exhausted. When we have returned to civilisation I shall submerge myself in a proper bath filled with hot water, with none of this poor caustic stuff you thought economical - there shall be only the finest Castilian soap scented with violets, and towels so thick that one might sink into them and be lost. I may never get out of this aforementioned bath, I warn you now."

"Then I can save money by not buying you those towels," smiled Crawford. "Have the others come back from their hunt yet?"

"No," said Schuldig, settling down beside him. "It will be fully dark soon - unless they can see as well in the night as the _dov_ they will surely return. Nagi is still cleaning the ever-increasing collection of small things he is taking from the tomb. He is such a little treasure-hunter! We are quite alone," he said. "Look into the future for me."

"Cross my palm with silver," said Crawford with a laugh. "Shall I tell you that you will meet a tall, dark and handsome man?"

"Tall and dark I've already met," said Schuldig evilly. "Handsome would be a most diverting novelty. No, I want to know if you have seen anything more clearly about the outcome of all of this, what shall befall all of us when we leave this place. Do not shake your head and try to elude my request! Look more closely, for me." He laid a hand on Crawford's hair, which the last heat of the day had by now almost dried. "Let me see as well."

"I can try," said Crawford in a warning tone. "But I have seen nothing different than I have previously told you."

Schuldig leaned against him, putting his hands firmly upon his friend's head. "I am ready," he said. "Show me this tall, dark, handsome man."

Crawford breathed deeply, letting his vision and his mind swim away from their anchors in the present, seeking knowledge of the future. An insistent image of Farfarello returning from the hunt, bearing with him one of the native wild sheep had to be pushed aside, then there was a brief and glittering succession of images of the city they explored, followed only by the desert, wide and unbearably hot. Unutterably melancholic loneliness suffused Crawford, and he knew he was lost and alone. "You are _not_ alone," came Schuldig's voice, as Crawford tried to force the vague impressions to form a picture in his mind. He saw an indistinct image of Schuldig, though he was unclear as to whether it was a vision of his friend, or some workings of his ability that gave visual form to the mind reader's current presence within his thoughts. No sooner had he attempted to make more distinct the image of his friend than he found himself alone once more, with the reason for his melancholy made clear to him. Schuldig was gone. He opened his eyes as nothing else became clear to him.

"What," said Schuldig, "do you mean by 'gone'?"

"I don't know," said Crawford unwillingly.

Schuldig's lips thinned in displeasure, and he took a firmer hold upon Crawford, closing his eyes. "I shall apologise later," he said, and then Crawford gasped in pain as Schuldig tore, as it seemed to him, the information he desired from his mind. "I'm sorry," said Schuldig consolingly. "It's faster than you trying to think your way through the vision and then trying to explain your conclusions to me."

"I know," said Crawford, wincing. "If only it could be both efficient and painless! I'm sure you could be more gentle." There had been times Schuldig had acted so with him and not left him with the beginnings of an awful headache, he mused.

"I will be so in future," promised Schuldig, a look of utmost concentration upon his narrow face. "At least you do not see that I shall die," he muttered. "Just that I am gone."

"It may simply be that I could no longer see your image in my mind - not everything I see comes to pass," said Crawford, wondering if he would somehow anger his friend so much that Schuldig would attempt the long journey back by himself. "Don't you dare leave. I need you."

"Of course," said Schuldig. "It would be difficult to win free of our masters if you did not have me to rely on. Do not think you shall be rid of me so easily. I am hard to kill and apt to long outstay my welcome." He looked up as Nagi called out in welcome, and drew Crawford's attention to the returning Farfarello and Micah. "One vision at least is come thankfully true, Farfarello has brought us our dinner, as you saw." He looked in sudden fierceness at Crawford. "You saw him return - why did you not see Micah?"

"I don't know," said Crawford with a frown. "I had previously been thinking of the necessity for their hunt to be successful, and had hoped that the killing of beasts might be as calming to Farfarello as the killing of men. No doubt that narrowed in the vision somewhat."

"No doubt," said Schuldig evenly. "Do you _ever_ see him in your visions? I cannot read his mind, you cannot foresee what he will do, Nagi can only at some times say what he is feeling. Micah is a most obscure fellow, is he not?"

"Oh," said Crawford uneasily, feeling that if he moved too much his head would split asunder, "it means nothing. He has told us what the effects of his training were - you cannot be saying that you believe he may hide himself from all our various abilities?"

"A very convenient effect," muttered Schuldig.

"And so I hope it will prove for us, once we have returned to Earth," said Crawford. "I thought you had given up this petty suspicion and grudge, Schuldig." He seized his friend's hand, continuing, "You and I were not friends at first, and see how dear we are to one another now - think about Nagi also. He didn't like you at all when we first found him, and now he is as fond of you as he is of me."

"Next you will be asking me to believe that Farfarello and I are friends," interrupted Schuldig.

"You cannot disguise your love for him from me," said Crawford. "Why whole hours may go by these days without either of you driving the other into a rage!" He looked seriously into Schuldig's face, continuing, "So it will be with Micah. I know it. He is still new to our company, but treat him as a friend and he will become one in truth. He wants to be free as much as any of us, Schuldig. Let us give him that."

"Huh," said Schuldig, shrugging. "And if my sister dropped suddenly from the sky after all these years how would you treat her?"

"As my own dear sister," said Crawford.

"If she'd been in _their_ keeping you would do better to be wary of her," said Schuldig. "Pah! Do not listen to me in such a mood, Crawford. I am a suspicious fellow, and your bewildering vision has not improved my humour. I seek only to distract myself."

"You have not been quite yourself these last days," said Crawford. "You cannot keep your mind on any task for long and continually seek distraction. What is the matter with you?" A horrid thought crept into his mind that perhaps Schuldig had contracted some malady peculiar to mind readers that had worn at his mental faculties.

"No," said Schuldig dismissively, then paused. "Well," he went on, "perhaps I am more easily distracted than usual. I think it may be the emptiness of this place, Crawford. This is the longest I have ever been away from numbers of people - you and Farfarello have been taught to erect walls within your minds to at least keep some of your thoughts to yourselves, Micah is a blank wall. The only person I can hear without expending effort is Nagi. I have been eavesdropping on you and Farfarello every chance I get." He grimaced, gesturing vaguely. "It is hard to explain. I'm used to trying to keep people's every little thought out of my head, not suddenly wondering if I have gone deaf! Doing all manner of distracting things, being with you when you have let down the barriers in your mind like now and I can hear your thoughts without even trying to - it's calming."

"Is that all?" asked Crawford.

"I hope so," said Schuldig. "I've heard some tales of horror concerning what may happen to mind readers should they succumb to mental weakness." He stood, pulling Crawford up with him. "Come along, let us walk off your headache and then come back to see the fate of that unfortunate beast once Farfarello has tried to cook some of it. We'll think about what you saw and see what conclusions we can come to." He smiled wickedly, though Crawford could see it was not as genuine as usual, saying, "I'll be far more gentle with you in future, a man of your advancing years should not be subjected to such ardour."

  


* * *

  
Schuldig stared disconsolately into the fire, fighting down the urge to throw the food he had just been given to the _dov_. He was very tired of the meat that Farfarello and Micah had procured, and wished that the cool room in which the well was located had never been found, for the meat had stayed good there far longer than it could have otherwise been expected. "I have eaten it roasted, and fried, and boiled," he thought in irritation, "And not once has it been palatable! I could almost long to be as Farfarello and know only that I ate, without ever tasting the food! What I would not give for a proper meal, served on fine china and eaten with implements of silver!" He glared as Farfarello offered him another slice. "Oh, give it here," he said ungraciously. "I must eat _something_ after all." It was tough and chewy, and Schuldig pretended both to his friends and to himself that he was annoyed only with the unpalatable state of his dinner. No one paid him much attention, which served only to annoy him more. "Bah," he thought, doing his best not to glare at the others, "do they not know how impolite it is to ignore a fellow? Why Crawford has not spoken to me for almost an hour!" Indeed his friend had been, both before and during the whole of dinner, utterly absorbed in conversation with Micah, a fact that served only to annoy Schuldig still further, for while he had done his best to be polite to the man could not think of him as a friend, no matter how he tried. "A man must be allowed dislike some people," he thought. "We do not needle at each other, that must be enough for Crawford." He frowned as Crawford laughed at something Micah said, a feeling of hot fury rising up within his breast.

"What is it?" asked Nagi, putting a hand upon his arm. "Are you all right, Schuldig?"

"I am perfectly well," he said shortly. "Do not _fuss_ so, Nagi." He sighed as Nagi drew back, his little face annoyed and hurt. "Silly child," thought Schuldig, then, ruefully, "I shall find some way to cheer him up later. Oh, I will go quite mad if I am left out here to cook in the desert with these people for much longer! Pah, I cannot see what is so funny about what he says, Crawford, for you to laugh at his talk _again_." Schuldig paused, his hand extended to take a last slice of the meat upon which he wished to vent his annoyance, a dull feeling of shame creeping over him. "Oh," he thought. "I am acting as Nagi used to when Crawford's attention was taken from him. I am a jealous fool, and all this time I have thought Crawford to be more jealous than I!" He sat silently, recalling the recent times when it had seemed to his friends - and even to himself - that he had acted queerly, and his shame deepened to know how he had sought to attract attention to himself. Impulsively he reached out and embraced the squirming Nagi.

"Ah!" ejaculated Nagi, "you'll make me drop my food!"

"Where do you put it all?" said Schuldig in a joking tone, hoping to be forgiven his earlier slight. "You are such a thin little lad!"

"Huh," said Nagi, "you're a fine one to talk." He squinted in concentration, thinking then clearly and distinctly, "It is your fault I can think of nothing but food!"

"You do not have to strain so," thought Schuldig, laughing silently. "I can hear you quite well. And there are surely two thoughts in your mind: food and treasure!" He let go only when a little smile began to play about the edges of Nagi's mouth, and the lad seemed quite to have forgot his hurt. Then he paid close attention to Crawford and Micah, seeking to discover what made them laugh so.

"The frog!" cried Crawford. "I had forgotten it till now!"

"Frog?" said Schuldig, seeking to insinuate himself into the conversation.

"We found the largest frog we could," said Micah, "a fine yellow and green gentleman with a powerful and deep voice, and we smuggled it into the house. Bradley, being by far a more evil child than I, proposed that we should hide it in his mother's bureau. Her maid was the one to discover it, and we were lucky indeed that her screams covered our laughter!"

"The poor girl," laughed Crawford. "We should have been whipped soundly for that if we had not managed to get away and claim convincingly that I had been hard at my schoolwork!"

"Well, _I_ would have been whipped," said Micah.

"Come now," said Crawford, taking off his spectacles to wipe them clean, "for that sin we should _both_ have been whipped if we had been suspected!" He smiled fondly at Micah, saying, "My mother worried that there were no suitable children, as she put it, for me to play with. We did well enough, though, did we not?"

"We did," said Micah with a smile, "even if _my_ mother thought _you_ were a little demon! Do you remember, we were planning on going to war together?"

"Yes," said Crawford, suddenly smiling no more. "You were to be my servant, I said. I'm sorry, Micah."

"We were children," said Micah easily. "We knew no better - don't trouble yourself over it now." He turned to Schuldig. "What about you, Schuldig? Were you a troublesome boy?"

Schuldig looked into the fire, telling himself that Micah was merely seeking to distract Crawford and did not mean to be unpleasant. "Not," he said politely, "that I remember."

"Ah," said Micah, "I didn't mean --"

"No, no, it is quite all right," said Schuldig, searching for some amusing story to tell to wipe the look of pity from the other man's face.

"You can remember nothing at all?" asked Micah.

"I know I _had_ parents and a sister, and there are people I see in my dreams," said Schuldig off-hand. "I know them when I'm asleep, but I can't recall their faces or voices when I am awake. Sometimes I can half-remember a woman - and I know my opinion is that she was beautiful, though I cannot ever see her face properly. It's quite stupid, though, for I don't know if she is my mother or perhaps my nursemaid!" He laughed gaily, hating the way they all then looked at him.

"What of your childhood?" said Micah to Farfarello, clearly wishing to divert embarrassing attention from Schuldig.

"It's over," said Farfarello, "and it wasn't very enjoyable at the time."

"I'll make sure the _dov_ are all right," cried Nagi, his desire to flee before he was in turn asked about his childhood clear to Schuldig.

"I did not mean to distress you," said Micah.

"Who is distressed?" said Schuldig with a shrug. "Our lives are as they are. Only fools weep over things they cannot change. We should speak of more profitable things," he said, "What of those inscriptions you copied this morning, Crawford?" He was delighted to see he had at last successfully diverted the conversation, as Crawford's eyes lit up and he took out a notebook.

"I feel sure I could decipher these," said Crawford. "Look, this is the sign still used before the names of deities - surely these words are gods' names and titles. This one occurs again and again."

"If you still hold to the theory that there is some connexion with the ancient temples and tombs you investigated on Earth, no doubt it is a solar god," said Micah.

"No doubt," said Crawford, "though the evidence of the art is more compelling than our theories! These people worshipped the sun, that is certain - their art, the alignment of the palace and temple toward the dawn, no doubt their texts if I could but read them - they all tell me so." He laughed at the others' indulgent faces. "And somewhere within this temple - or within this city, if we are unlucky - they have written something they do not want the common folk to read. That's what we must find."

"Whatever it is, we'll find it," said Micah. "Though I very much hope you do not make us dig over the whole city!"

"We cannot stay too much longer," said Crawford, "Unless we want to support ourselves on the way back through hunting, which would make our journey longer and more wearisome. Let us apply ourselves with greater diligence than we have used so far."

"How are we to do that?" said Farfarello in his mildest tone, thereby showing he meant it as a pleasantry. "Shall we kill ourselves in the attempt?"

"Only half kill yourself," said Crawford in like manner. "What we seek is here somewhere, and we will find it, if I have to kill every one of you to do so." He smiled as they laughed. "It grows late," he said, "and we should get ourselves up as early as possible to start work again. I for one am going to bed. Schuldig?"

"I'll join you," said Schuldig willingly, feeling that nothing would please him more than to rest.

"You never used to speak of such things," said Crawford quietly, when they were alone and Nagi had fallen asleep.

"None of us have ever had a brother appear before," said Schuldig. "It's a time for unusual topics of conversation. You are alike in appearance, you know." He felt a twinge of irritation at the pleasure that crossed Crawford's face, then told himself not to be such a child. "Good night," he said. "May your dreams be full of our success - and may they be prophetic!" He closed his eyes, secure in the knowledge that he still possessed the skill to make Crawford laugh.


	47. Chapter 47

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
Nagi carefully arranged his treasures in the shelter of the awning they had erected to gain respite from the sun while enjoying the breeze that cooled the evening, mentally cataloguing them as objects with which the ancients had adorned themselves, or weapons, or items of unknown ritual provenance. He felt sure that his diligent attention when Crawford spoke of such matters was profitable, for he could not imagine his older friend being so fiercely interested in things that were of no use. The knowledge was important, thought Nagi, and it pleased Crawford to see him learn. It also pleased Crawford that Nagi would listen, rather than laugh and attempt to turn the conversation to other matters as did the others. When Crawford wished to speak of the items they found Nagi was always pleased to listen, having at those moments Crawford's attention purely to himself. He held up a slim-bladed dagger of beaten gold, admiring the way the sunlight gleamed along its length. Farfarello had snorted in contempt when Nagi had shown it to him, proclaiming it useless and utterly without merit when compared to knives of steel. Schuldig had suggested melting it down, while Micah had offered to fold the blade over and over upon itself to make it easier to carry with other small items of gold. Crawford had been willing to listen to Nagi as the lad suggested with excitement that a princess had owned it and had, no doubt, used it in her unknown devotions. Nagi was sure a fine lady had indeed owned the dagger, and he had been most gratified that Crawford had not laughed once, even when his imagination took flight, unlike Schuldig who had been most vocal and vulgar on rituals Nagi's supposed lady might have enjoyed with a variety of admirers. Nagi sighed, shaking his head. He liked Schuldig, of course, but could not deny that his friend was not of an academic bent or in any way an intellectual. He looked round cautiously, wondering if he would get a clip on the ear for such a thought, but Schuldig, having fallen asleep after a game of cards with the others, was still dozing by Crawford's side, his face peaceful and quiet. Nagi was glad he had not heard, for he did not wish to hurt the mind reader's feelings.

"And what are you doing, little antiquarian?" asked Micah, looking his way cheerfully as Farfarello grumpily conceded defeat in their game of draughts.

"I'm just considering the classification of these artefacts," said Nagi as the man smiled at him. "Perhaps riding _ayit_ was a religious ritual - there are _ayit_ picked out on both sides of the blade. It would have brought them nearer their god, wouldn't it?"

"No doubt," said Micah, clearly struggling not to laugh. Nagi tried not to feel insulted. "Perhaps they sacrificed victims to the sun with that dagger."

"I don't think so," said Nagi. "Farfarello's right, it wouldn't hold an edge, it's far too soft. Maybe it was used in ritual processions or was a votive offering presented by a priestess."

"It's just a toy," murmured Farfarello, lying back comfortably.

"You are fond of that priestess," smiled Micah. "And advancing in your studies, it seems, despite their being in a tongue foreign to you."

"Oh, I think in English almost all the time, now," said Nagi, a statement that while it was not quite as truthful as it might have been was incorrect not through malice but through the lad's enthusiasm and desire to be what his friends would have him be.

"Clever boy," said Micah, looking over to where Crawford sat and read. "Though should you not take the opportunity to improve your grasp of _his_ tongue, Bradley?"

"I have no plans to return to Japan," said Crawford mildly. "It was more necessary, I decided, for him to learn English."

"He may need more than that," said Micah. "Depending on what your plans are, a better knowledge of German would be useful. Did you not become more used to conversing in German than in English as a boy, Bradley? We were forbidden from using our own languages and spoke German all the time."

"He is not wholly without instruction in that tongue," smiled Crawford as Nagi looked annoyed to be spoken of as if he were not present.

"I have heard the fruits of his instruction," said Micah dryly. "Yesterday when he dropped his dinner, for example." He smiled at Nagi's blush, "Come now, lad," he said. "We are all men here, you need not act like a girl caught using intemperate speech."

"I'm getting better at German," muttered Nagi. "It's a hard tongue, that's all, but Schuldig does use it with me." He poked at his treasures disconsolately, thinking that the moment Schuldig awoke he would demand instruction in the language so that he might do more than swear. Micah was right, he thought, the first inclination of Crawford and the others was to speak in German amongst themselves. Thinking of how if he woke at night before his friends were asleep he would find them conversing softly in German, Nagi suddenly wished they had instructed him in that same tongue, unhappy that his knowledge of English was a way in which he was deliberately kept apart from them. He sighed and put his artefacts away, no longer entranced by them, overtaken by a queer feeling of discontent. "Schuldig!" he said loudly. "Wake up! _Ich mu mit dich sprechen!_ "

" _Mit dir,_ " said Crawford, Micah and Farfarello as one, all of them then laughing at the exasperation in Nagi's face.

" _Was?_ " said Schuldig in alarm as Nagi shook him. "Nagi? What --"

"Why is it _dir_ and not _dich_?" demanded Nagi. "How do I say this in German?" He brandished his notes in Schuldig's face, continuing, "Translate Crawford's monographs for me, Schuldig!" Ignoring Schuldig's pleas that it was the most hideous cruelty to drag a man from sleep and expect him to discourse upon points of grammar, the lad pulled him to the other end of the shaded area, pointing at objects and insisting that Schuldig at once supplied him with the German terms.

"We must not laugh," said Crawford, hiding a smile. "It's very cruel." He grinned as Micah turned his own laugh to a cough, saying, "And are you not going to complain that he addresses Schuldig in the familiar form?"

"How well you know me," smiled Micah. "But no, I think it only natural for Schuldig to be addressed so."

"What the devil do you mean by that?" cried Schuldig in irritation, before Nagi claimed his attention once more.

"Mind readers such as he aren't much for formality, I would have thought," said Micah, addressing his answer to Crawford rather than Schuldig. "In the Schlo I was told many such people cannot even distinguish their own thoughts from those of others - surely it would be ridiculous for them to feel anything other than on familiar terms with the whole world?"

"None of you are to call me _du_ from now on," snapped Schuldig. "I mean that!"

"It doesn't take foreknowledge to see that this will become annoying," sighed Crawford as Farfarello sat up, a gleam in his eye.

"He _said_ I could ask about mind readers without causing him offence," hissed Micah in seeming irritation. "I should have known he was not truthful."

"Mention of your time in the Schlo annoys him," said Crawford, frowning at Farfarello's attempts to drive Schuldig from irritation to anger.

"You're right, you're right," said Micah. "I should make allowances for him - he's just so mercurial, I never know when he will take it into his head to be upset at a chance remark or when he will laugh off something more serious."

"He doesn't need allowances made for him," said Crawford quickly.

"You're a good friend to him," smiled Micah. "I'll try to be as patient as you."

Crawford drew breath to say that was not how he had meant his comment to be taken, but closed his mouth once more as the peace of the early evening was shattered by loud German obscenities, Farfarello's barbs having had their intended effect. Patience, it seemed, was exactly what they would all need at that time.

  


* * *

  
Crawford stared at a high wall covered from head to foot in inscriptions. The heat of the days left him with a lingering headache, one that was, as it seemed, felt also by the others. They were all irritable and apt to start fights at the slightest provocation. If they didn't find something of use in the very near future he knew he could have to withdraw them from the city. They could not sit within its dry and arid boundaries for ever. "The near future," he thought with impotent annoyance. "Why will it not open itself to me?" He hated now to try to see what the future might hold, seeing now only endless sand and loneliness. "This damnable place," he muttered to himself, taking out his notebook to record the inscriptions.

"More of your native scribbles," said Schuldig's voice behind him. "How can you bear to write down one more word, Crawford?"

"We all have our burdens and tasks, as you well know, Herr Schuldig," said Crawford, extremely politely.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" said Schuldig peevishly.

"It was _supposed_ to be," said Crawford. "We are none of us in the mood for pleasantries, it seems." He sighed as Schuldig interrupted his writing by taking his hand.

"I want to go back to the city," Schuldig said. "I need more peoples' minds about me."

"Soon," said Crawford.

"It'll take at least six weeks to get there!" said Schuldig. "I'm _sick_ of your minds! I want _someone else_ , do you hear me?" He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Stop looking worried. May I take Farfarello out hunting the natives?"

"We're nowhere near a native town," said Crawford. "Schuldig, we'll go soon. I promise."

"Egypt wasn't like this," said Schuldig miserably. "We weren't so very far from other people, we weren't by ourselves for such a long time and I could divert myself by hating you." He favoured Crawford with a sharp glance. "I'm sorry to disappoint Micah," he said, "but I'm just discontent, not about to slaughter you all in your sleep."

"He said no such thing," said Crawford, strengthening the defences about his mind and cursing his momentary inattention. "Help me with this, Schuldig. I promise you I'll wear you out and you won't have the energy to dwell on things." Tearing out some pages from his notebook he held out both them and a pencil. Schuldig took them, turning silently to the wall. They worked quietly, writing down the whole set of inscriptions, for while Schuldig had little interest in learning the tongue or writing systems of the natives he had written out Crawford's rough notes on many evenings and was well used to writing the script though he could understand not a single word.

"I'm not about to flee by myself across the desert," he said at last.

"Hmm? Oh. I'm glad to hear that," said Crawford, looking up from his task.

"Your vision," said Schuldig with thin patience. "My absence - I'm not running away."

"Of course you're not," smiled Crawford. "You are not the sort of man to run away." He finished the final line and put away his notebook, grimacing as he stretched. "Damn, I am stiff all over," he said. "We need to dig more. There has to be something we're missing."

"We should have Nagi take this place apart brick by brick," said Schuldig. "If that would offend your delicate sensibilities, let us examine the plans once more - perhaps there is another hidden chamber that might become apparent to us."

"We'll examine the plans," said Crawford. "Destruction would miss too much, and I don't want to miss a single line of a text that we might be able to use."

"Are you going to bargain our freedom from them?" said Schuldig. "We'd have done better to hide in one of Europe's greatest cities."

"I'm not going to hide for all my life," said Crawford. "We're going to be free, not fugitives." He squeezed Schuldig's shoulder, continuing, "Let's look at those plans, shall we?" So saying he led the way back to their tent, unrolling the plans they had painstakingly constructed. For some time he and Schuldig bent their heads over the plans, murmuring to each other about the scale and where anything they could have missed might lie.

"This whole wing," said Schuldig, pointing to an area along the outer wall of the temple, "is the storage areas where we found the casks that once held foodstuffs. And here are living quarters. Here is the chamber of pillars and here some of the great rooms for audiences or some other assembly. Where is the temple treasury, Crawford?"

"There may not be one," sighed Crawford. "Perhaps it has been looted, perhaps such things were kept in the palace. It is even possible the ancients did not use treasure in the pursuit of their religion."

"Not if that priestess is any evidence," said Schuldig. "It's here, somewhere. And surely you'll find something useful in it."

Crawford nodded, and pressed dividers and a protractor into Schuldig's hands. "Let us calculate this out inch by inch," he said. "Whatever there is to be found, we will find. Here, this is a map of the City of the Horizon of the Aten," he continued, taking out another plan. "Let us compare them."

"Is there really a link?" Schuldig said, adding quickly, "Never tell Micah I asked you that."

"Our erstwhile masters thought so," said Crawford, "and while they are tyrannical they are not stupid. And we've seen certain things ourselves that would suggest it."

"The ancient natives came to Earth or the ancients of Egypt to Mars?" said Schuldig, bending to his task.

"I neither know nor care," said Crawford, smiling then at the sardonic gaze that met his. "Very well, I care. But I care more about finding something here so that we shall not have wasted our time and effort." Without further discussion they pored over the plans, not taking a break to eat or paying any attention when their friends came to see what was occupying their time. Finding themselves ignored and their attempts at conversation going unanswered, the others left them in peace. Even when Nagi crept in and huddled on their blankets in exhaustion they did not stop their work, barely noticing his presence.

"It has to be here," said Crawford at last, tapping the plan where the bare central courtyard was drawn and pulling off his spectacles to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "We have searched everywhere else. Damn," he ejaculated. "This headache will not lift."

"We have been through that courtyard every day," said Schuldig. "Nagi has felt nothing that might indicate a space beneath."

"Has he really been paying attention, or simply running back and forth avoiding our instructions on wearing his hat?" said Crawford quietly, pulling the blankets over the lad's sleeping form. "You know quite well that if he is to feel something he cannot see he must be paying attention. The entrance - if there is one, yes I grant you that - must be in one of these side wings."

"But where?" mused Schuldig. "This is a big building, Crawford. We have been to the cellars of every side of this place and found only blank and natural rock. Any entrance could take days to find - weeks if we were to be unlucky."

"Ah," said Crawford, smiling. "Come with me." He seized Schuldig's hand and pulled him out into the night, glad for the light of both moons. "It is all right," he said as Farfarello whirled round from where he had stationed himself on watch.

"I hope you will both be fit to stand your turns," grumbled Farfarello as they went past.

"We need our beauty sleep," said Schuldig rudely. "There's no hope for _your_ beauty, so why don't you just stay up till dawn?" Laughing lightly he went on with Crawford.

"Here," cried Crawford when they stood in the great courtyard. "This is it."

"You've gone mad," said Schuldig. "This whole area is smooth and solid."

"Schuldig," said Crawford, "be damned to the entrance. You were right. Oh, stop smiling like that! We are both right and both entitled to our views - I don't want the temple destroyed, you don't want to search for many more weeks. _This_ , however, is as you say, smooth and solid. I don't care if flagstones are ruined! Tomorrow we'll take it all up, every last stone."

"We'll take it up?" said Schuldig plaintively.

"By "we" I mean "Nagi"," said Crawford. "See how I listen to you?"

"What good sense you show in your old age," said Schuldig. "And if you _are_ wrong?"

"Then," said Crawford firmly, "this entire complex comes down, for I will not put my hobbies above the needs of you and the others. I'll have you back in a city as soon as ever I may." He felt light hearted at Schuldig's smile, and the headache that had lasted for days seemed quite unimportant. "This is the last chance I shall have to enjoy this as it is, the last chance for us to enjoy it together - shall we stay out a little longer?"

"Oh yes," said Schuldig, embracing him. "What a proof of friendship, Brad, that you will destroy your beloved old buildings for me!"

"I'd end the world for you," said Crawford quietly, smiling as Schuldig's gay laughter rang out in the still and silver moonlight.


	48. Chapter 48

_The great temple of the sun, 1880_

  
The courtyard, so painstakingly cleared by Nagi's exertions over the course of several days, had yielded little of interest to the young men, being in its entirety free of treasures that might be lifted and easily transported. A number of statues had been found at its eastern end, massive in scale and in execution but these, being composed of stone rather than gold, had not excited Schuldig past the most cursory of glances although they had roused within Crawford's breast the urge to spend time in study and contemplation of what they might tell him of the religious persuasions of the ancients. Micah had shown some interest in them, while Farfarello, barring a taciturn statement on the futility of all faiths, had merely bent to whatever work he had been assigned. Only Nagi had attempted to show a deeper and true interest in the knowledge such massive statuary might impart but Crawford knew well that the fascination evinced by the lad had its roots not in any love of antiquarianism but in the regard in which Nagi held him. Having no time in which to persuade his friends of the value of such learning for its own sake, and being in truth as eager for different surroundings and the company of a greater number of people than his small group of friends, Crawford was content - or at least resigned - to the thought of ripping the knowledge he needed from the temple rather than persuading it little by little to relinquish its secrets to him. Accordingly, he assembled his friends before dawn, paying little attention to the piteous and theatrical yawns of Schuldig nor to the faint complaints of his friend that a man could not survive on such scant hours of embrace in the arms of Morpheus. He aligned them all with their faces to the east and awaited the moment of sunrise. The light grew ever greater, the night-time tone of the sky fading into paler and paler blue until at last the sun, so distant from the soil of Mars yet so harshly unforgiving in the fierceness of its gaze rose above the surrounding hills, and the whole courtyard was flooded with golden light.

"Hail, Helios," murmured Crawford, his avid gaze tracing where the sun would surely once have been enclosed in the massive span of an arch. "Well, let us begin," he went on, turning to his companions. He smiled to see Micah hide a yawn behind one hand and to see Schuldig and Nagi leaning one against another, their eyes closed. "Such regrettable indolence," smiled Crawford. "Why, Farfarello is the only one alert, and he has been awake for much of the night!"

"I have perfected the art of sleeping with open eyes," said Farfarello dreamily as Schuldig said, _his_ eyes still firmly closed, "You quite wore me to exhaustion last night, Crawford, you can hardly expect me to be roused again to effort in your service so soon!"

"Nagi," said Crawford, "stop acting as a prop for Schuldig in his dotage and let us get to work." The lad at once rushed to his side, affording the young mind reader the opportunity to stagger and look more piteous yet.

"Ach!" he ejaculated. "Such cruelty from those that call themselves my friends!"

"What shall I do?" said Nagi, looking up at Crawford in eagerness.

"Let us start at the eastern end," said Crawford. "They revered the sun, that much is clear, and where better to secrete their treasures than beneath its place of first appearance?" He indicated the ground between the most massive of the statutes, saying, "Begin there. Lift up the flagstones, Nagi, and let us see what might lie beneath." He bent down then as Nagi tugged on his jacket, a look of worry on his little face. "What is it?" asked Crawford patiently.

"These stones are very heavy," whispered Nagi with worry. "Are you sure you want Micah to see that I can lift them?"

"It is perfectly all right," murmured Crawford quietly. "Has he not been a friend to us all over the past time? You have been listening to Schuldig too much, Nagi. Micah is my brother, and you may trust him."

As if every objection he might possibly have held had been swept away by the sound of Crawford's voice, Nagi stared with great concentration at the area delineated by the sweep of his older friend's hand. He stepped forward, his small face rapt and tense, as if he did not even know he moved, and stood there, his narrow frame shaking with effort as he raised his hands, slowly and carefully as if he bore - not in them but between them - a great burden. There was a terrible rending sound, as if the earth itself was moving, and Nagi's face took on an even more determined expression. Several of the largest of the immense stones that floored the courtyard shifted, groaning against their fellows that remained firmly rooted. All at once, six of them lifted from their position with a loud snapping sound and hung, mid-air, until Nagi flung wide his arms and they moved on the most precise and fixed of courses to land neatly by the walls of the courtyard. The lad wiped at the perspiration that streamed down his face, his complexion suddenly pallid. Crawford at once handed him a bottle of water.

"Drink," he ordered. "Lift them one at a time, the effort is too much for you."

"I want to be useful," said Nagi in a faint voice, and then, shyly, "I want people to see how useful I am."

"We know your worth," said Crawford quietly. "I want you to keep well, Nagi. Lift them one at a time from now on, and do not worry about such neat and precise placing of them once they have been removed from their positions." He lifted the lad's hat momentarily to pour water upon Nagi's head, thinking that the lad would gain some relief thereby. "Keep that on," he said, replacing the hat with a firm pat. "Very well," he went on. "Back to work." At once the lad smiled faintly and another of the great blocks of stone raised itself into the air. Crawford squeezed his shoulder and looked back at the others. Schuldig smiled slightly at him, while Farfarello nodded in approval at Nagi's work, clearly thinking that the destruction of temples was the best course with which to approach them. Micah watched Nagi's progress with a delighted and surprised air.

"He is very strong," said Micah to Crawford. "I hadn't realised he could lift so much with such delicate precision."

"He is very good," said Crawford with unfeigned pleasure. "He has become stronger and stronger under our tutelage."

"What he could do with specialised training," murmured Micah. "But no mind, you have trained him more than well enough!"

"When Schuldig was shot Nagi took the bullet from the wound very neatly," said Crawford. "He has needed in the past to be pushed, for he was too easily content with what he could do - though recently the difficulty has been in making sure he does not rush to the other extreme and over-exhaust himself!" Seeing that over two dozen of the blocks had been removed, he reached out and patted the boy's shoulder, saying, "A moment, Nagi. Let us see if you have uncovered anything yet." He and Nagi went forward, a look of utmost concentration again on the boy's face. "Is it solid beneath?" asked Crawford.

"I think -- I think so," said Nagi in disappointment.

"Take your time," said Crawford, keeping his own disappointment from his voice. "If you cannot feel anything, there is no shame, Nagi. Just because you can feel within a lock and open it from within does not mean that you can feel something that is not there!" He frowned, looking about him. "Still," he mused, "all the temple seems focused on this space - yet there is nothing here. Am I to believe there is only blank stone reflecting the rays of their god? They show no reticence in depictions of their deity elsewhere." He sighed. "Try again, Nagi."

Nagi sank to his knees, putting his hands flat upon the rougher stone he had revealed and closing his eyes. He knelt there, motionless, until Crawford thought the lad had quite become insensible. Then, in the faintest of voices he said in his native tongue, "There is a crack. I do not know if it is natural or not."

"Good boy," said Crawford avidly, kneeling beside him and placing a hand upon his bowed shoulders. "Here, lean against me, that's it."

"It's beneath a stone I haven't lifted," said Nagi, his voice shaking. "It's -- it feels sharp, Crawford."

"What does that mean?" asked Crawford, stroking the lad's back.

"I think I caused it," said Nagi. "I think it wasn't there before I moved the stones, it's new." He raised his head and stared at a further stone that raised itself a few inches before falling back into place. It raised itself again and fell once more.

"Are you tired?" asked Crawford.

"Yes," whispered Nagi, "but I'm able to lift the stone, it's not that I can't." He looked seriously up at Crawford, continuing, "I think I can widen the crack this way."

" _Good_ boy," said Crawford, glad to see how Nagi redoubled his efforts at the praise.

"Ah!" ejaculated Nagi, a fierce light coming into his eyes as they narrowed with satisfaction. He clambered to his feet, pulling himself up by means of Crawford, as if his older friend were a ladder. He stepped forward, his fists clenched as the stone on which he had bent his attention raised itself and moved aside. Standing where it had rested, Nagi stared down and then, lifting a clenched fist, he punched downwards, aiming as it were an abortive blow at the ground between his feet. Dust rose as if he had in truth dealt a violent blow and then Crawford had cause to bless his foresight as he snatched Nagi to him, leaping then to the side to land on one of the great flagstones as a crack appeared from nowhere and the ground crumbled. A shard of stone spun in the air and shot to Nagi's outstretched hand. Crawford lay on his side with the boy sheltered in his arms, breathing heavily as he heard the whoops of victory from the others, all his attention, however on the prize Nagi held up to him.

"Look," said Nagi joyfully, showing him the smooth deep blue on which golden stars were figured. "It's plastered, Crawford! It's not natural - we've found it!"

  


* * *

  
The chamber in which they stood boasted a high vaulted ceiling on which was depicted in paint and inlaid precious materials the night sky in glorious array, on the walls under which the earth lay sleeping. At the eastern end of the chamber lay a raised and intricately carved platform that the young men all immediately dubbed an altar, and scattered about the floor were tables and stone chests for them to investigate. What had caused Crawford to shout aloud with pleasure, however, was the depiction of the sun journeying under the earth, beset by demons that inevitably shrank back from that celestial being's bright golden rays. His joy at such pictures and at the great inscription inlaid in gold against a background of what proved to be yellowed and aged ivory on the eastern wall was natural and unfeigned.

"The pictures are very Egyptian," agreed Schuldig in a somewhat muffled voice as he patiently submitted to Crawford's embrace. "None of us will ever again doubt you," he continued in a condescending tone. "How excited you are!" he went on in thought alone, "It makes your mind seem altogether less boring - you must endeavour to always be so excited in my company." He unwound Crawford's arm from about him, smiling at his friend's happiness.

"Is this not the mirror in ritual of the courtyard above?" said Crawford eagerly, gesturing at the walls and ceiling. "Where the ancients saw their deity clearly traversing the sky during the day, obvious to all and so requiring no idolatrous accoutrements in the place of worship, they at night must needs have had recourse to their imaginations and so have depicted the supposed adventures and travails of their god in their art. Did they carry out services of hope for the sun's daily resurrection here every night, or was this room reserved for actions of a darker, chthonic nature, I wonder?" He smiled ruefully at the laughter dancing in Schuldig's eyes. "You think me entirely too enthusiastic," he said.

"I like your enthusiasms," said Schuldig merrily. "You are always so indulgent with me during them. But restrain yourself a little, my friend, for you are quite in a state of nervous excitement and I would not have you do yourself harm."

Crawford laughed, his eyes fixed on the patch of wall illuminated by the rays of the sun that penetrated the opening they had torn in the ceiling. "You need not fear for my health, for I plan on working you to the bone, all of you! I must start recording this, Schuldig --" So saying he left his friend and went to the illuminated wall, running his hands possessively over the designs carved and painted thereon. Nagi dropped the items he had been examining and ran over to Crawford, pulling out a notebook and a pencil from his pocket as he did so. Schuldig shook his head in mock sorrow, returning to the others who stood in the middle of the chamber, looking about them in the dim light.

"We shall never tear him away from this, never," said Schuldig sadly to Farfarello. "He shall surely die here, wasted away to nothing."

"We can perhaps leave food within arm's reach so that he does not starve," said Farfarello. "Though I'm sure he will have but little appetite."

"This is what happens when one is seized by a passion in one's old age, one loses all sense of decorum and flings oneself upon the object of infatuation. His advanced age makes it inevitable," sighed Schuldig.

"Bradley and I were born within three months of each other," said Micah mildly.

"Look upon your fate and regret your misspent youth," said Schuldig evilly. "Do you too feel you must make love to the wall?"

Micah laughed and indicated Nagi, working close to Crawford and taking down things the older man said. "We shouldn't get too close, or we too will be given notebooks to fill. How that child has the patience to list everything Bradley says I do not know. His devotion is unmatched, is it not?"

"Wait till we're back in civilisation, and you'll see Schuldig running at Crawford's heels like a lap-dog seeking attention," said Farfarello cheerfully.

"What? I like that," said Schuldig in disgust. "Such slander!"

"Oh yes," continued Farfarello. "The moment Crawford has other things to concern him we shall hear "yap, yap, yap" from morning to night."

"I'm sure he is a most loving pet," said Micah, "with many charming tricks Bradley has taught him."

"If you'll excuse me, I shall lend my help to Crawford," said Schuldig in annoyance.

"Yap!" said Farfarello. "Yap, yap!" He raised an eyebrow as Schuldig did not respond, walking instead silently away. "Bah!" ejaculated Farfarello. "If he is growing up I shall have to try harder to provoke him!"

"What are you doing?" asked Schuldig, standing behind Crawford at a distance he considered safe, watching the other stretch a tape measure out across a painted scene to check the angle at which the celestial bodies were depicted.

"What I always do," said Crawford, picking up his notebook once more and not ceasing from his careful notes and drawings. "If you want to be useful you can help. There are more notebooks in my satchel."

"No, no. I shall aid you by making comments on the artistry," said Schuldig. "You know I am of an artistic bent."

"Bend yourself to my service," said Crawford. "Nagi --"

A notebook floated over to Schuldig and tapped itself against his nose. "Brat," he muttered as Nagi hid a smile. He sighed and seized it from the air. "Oh, very well," he said. "I know you always use me as you will. I may as well capitulate gracefully."

Crawford marshalled them all in working on the inscriptions that accompanied the depictions of the sun's travails every day while he, in the manner of a lover attaining at last the object of his greatest desires, busied himself with the gold and ivory text, having to be dragged away from it to eat and sleep, during which times his mind was all too clearly still occupied with the great letters of burnished gold.

"At last I see what you really love," said Schuldig one night, pulling Crawford away from the wall by force. "You are exhausted, come to bed."

"A little longer, if you please," said Crawford, trying almost to hold on to the wall with his fingertips.

"It will be here in the morning," said Schuldig, pulling harder. " _Komm, Kind_ , you are being silly." He smiled at Crawford's irritated expression. "If you are not a good little child I shall shut your mind down and you will wake in the tent wondering how you got there."

"Don't you _ever_ pull your nasty tricks on me," said Crawford.

"I but joked!" cried Schuldig, stung by Crawford's change of mood. "When have I ever used such things against you? Do not take your failures out on me!"

"Failures?" said Crawford angrily.

Schuldig glared at him, then sighed. "Keep your secrets, it was simply on the surface of your mind, I didn't go looking - tell me what is wrong, Crawford. Are we not partners in this?" He took Crawford's hand, saying, "If your moods turn mercurial, then I shall have to become the sensible one - surely you could not be so cruel to me?"

"I cannot read it," admitted Crawford, hanging his head. "It makes no sense, even give my scant knowledge of the Martian tongue. And when I use the key --" he held up the little gold and ivory plaque they had discovered in the priestess' tomb, "it still makes no sense. Some of the characters on the key are completely unlike any others we have seen in any text in this place. This is all nonsense to me, though I have been able to decipher other inscriptions."

"Listen to me," said Schuldig seriously. "In Egypt, though your knowledge of the language was more exact and your work easier in some ways, you did not expect all the mysteries of the place to reveal themselves at once to you. You studied, and had me read learned men's minds, and others took what you had learned and built upon it over and over till they knew enough to send us here. Take step upon step, do not feel you must do everything at once, rest and ensure your health, do not doubt that I shall be there to kill those who would try to stop you."

"Such sense, so late at night," said Crawford. "You are right, of course."

"Of course," repeated Schuldig. "Now, come and rest. Don't fear that you shall be too full of theories to sleep, I shall make sure you are completely at peace before you close your eyes. Tomorrow you shall read this out to me, with not mistakes."

"Have you become an oracle?" said Crawford, allowing himself to lean upon his friend, for he was in truth very tired.

"Yes," said Schuldig. "Right now I see that you will be asleep very soon, whether you are left here or whether you come to bed. It is my professional opinion as a soothsayer that you will have less aches and stiffness if you come and sleep under your blankets, with an amenable companion."

"Companions, surely," said Crawford, "unless the _dov_ have eaten Nagi at last?"

"He is long since sound asleep. We would have to shout right in his ear to wake him. Can you be quiet, Herr Crawford?" said Schuldig with an impish smile. "I'd so hate to disturb his slumber."

"I can be _very_ quiet," said Crawford, not relinquishing Schuldig's hand as he bent to retrieve his jacket.

"Why, I suspect you have become a mind reader," said Schuldig cheerfully, leading Crawford to the ladder and the courtyard above. "Let us go and be very quiet, then."


	49. Chapter 49

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
"Your work is progressing well now?" asked Micah, looking about him at the notebooks and sketches heaped about Crawford. "Can you read it?" He waved a hand up at the great inscription below which Crawford sat.

Crawford quirked his lips in a rueful smile. "Some words only," he admitted. "I have at least recorded it all accurately." He indicated some sections of the plaster that he and Nagi had, with utmost care, removed from the wall. He held up a lantern so that Micah could see the bright colours more clearly. "I'll pack these sections up for transport, we shall take them with us."

"How will you decipher them?" asked Micah, touching one of the highly decorated pieces of plaster lightly. "You will not have the benefit of the learned men in the Schlo, remember that."

"There are other scholars in the worlds," said Crawford. Then with a smile even more rueful he continued, "I am taking images I find attractive, Micah. No doubt you will laugh at me now."

"Not at all," said that gentleman easily. "Beauty is also important in life - you would have liked India, Bradley. Everything was very beautiful there. The colours seemed so much more vibrant than in Europe, and the flowers were more exuberant in their scent than any rose I have seen since." He nodded towards the sections of plaster. "And if needs be, you can sell them. Antiquarians would pay highly, no doubt."

"Very highly," agreed Crawford. "Though our funds should be more than sufficient with what we have found here." He drank water eagerly, offering the jug then to Micah. "I have a fancy to place these upon my parlour wall."

"You'll have a parlour?" said Micah indistinctly, drinking too.

"Oh, yes. With fashionable furniture, in a fashionable city. Schuldig would not be able to survive without theatres and restaurants. He likes his distractions and his places where he may be admired."

Micah laughed. "He does well enough here, I thought. Is that what you shall do with your freedom, brother? Spend your days spoiling Schuldig?"

"No doubt it will become wearisome for both of us in time," said Crawford quietly, "But I should like to have the opportunity." He sighed at Micah's polite expression. "You do not approve, I know."

"It is not my business," said Micah simply. "He is your friend." He offered Crawford some food, saying, "Here, I tried making cakes of the native grain, though they are somewhat tasteless, I fear."

"They are much better than anything Schuldig or I turn our hands to," said Crawford. "And it is better by far not to think of Farfarello's cooking whilst eating!" He washed down his meal with another draught of water.

"When we return to Earth," said Micah, "What shall we do? You cannot mean to storm the Schlo! You've said you don't want to be a fugitive all your life."

"That would not be freedom," said Crawford. "No, I had hoped perhaps to buy or bargain our freedom with the information gained here, mixed with a proper show of force. But that would be only if necessary - the world is a big place, Micah, as is Mars. If Farfarello had not attracted such unwelcome attention to us here, we could simply have gone missing as have so many explorers in the Martian wastes. We could have returned to Earth in some years, when the trail had quite gone dead. Now, however, New London is not large enough for us to hide in and we cannot so conveniently disappear. So now we will be more forceful - I will go to them and make our position quite clear."

"You'll do what?" said Micah in astonishment. "You'll go to the Schlo? Are you insane, Bradley? How can you hope to discuss such things calmly with them? They'll flay the flesh from your bones!"

Crawford grinned at the other man's bewilderment, laughing gaily to see the horror in Micah's eyes. "I am not quite the fool you seem to take me for!" he cried. "No, I do not propose to walk meekly to my doom, like a lamb to the slaughter! I will negotiate from a position of strength - they want the knowledge we have gained here and will pay for it. I'd hoped to know more, but we must work with what we have. I have Nagi as the ace up my sleeve - you've seen how strong the lad is. Let him but lose his temper properly and they can watch the Schlo crash to the ground about them. If needs be, there are persons there I will gladly kill, just to show that I can. But their mere lust for the knowledge we shall bring will no doubt not be enough - I've thought about this and have decided that the way to deal with them is to destroy some of their hopes for the future, and by so doing force them to deal with us in the present. I propose to take something from them that they will not wish to lose, and that they will - if they have any sense at all - be willing to negotiate to have returned to them."

"What's that?" asked Micah in surprise.

Crawford drank another cool mouthful of water, watching him. "The girls," he said.

"The girls," echoed Micah. "You _are_ crazy!"

Crawford shrugged. "You yourself have given me the idea, when you spoke to me of that young mind reader they keep insensible in the hopes of a successful breeding programme. They cannot afford to waste a single one of the girls they have. It will be easy enough to get in, they will want me to report in person. We won't waste time - we'll go straight to the girls' quarters, take the strongest of them and leave. If we have to kill instructors, so be it."

"How will you deal with the locks?" said Micah, breathlessly.

"Nagi," shrugged Crawford. "Don't look so worried, Micah! You know how obsessed they are with their theories of eugenics! They'll want as many of the girls back as possible." He smiled at the thought that the manner in which the girls' quarters were secured against entry could in any way stand up to Nagi's abilities. He could not as yet see the outcome of this action, but he knew well that the powers that ruled the Schlo felt it possible to improve the human race through the selection of perfect parents, and that, deprived of good maternal stock they would be more amenable to listen to reason.

Micah shook his head, as if he could not believe what he heard. "How shall we move about with a gaggle of silly girls slowing us down?" he demanded.

"They won't be silly," said Crawford. "They'll be trained just as are the boys in Schlo Rosenkreuz. They will know better than to hinder us - if they do, we will kill one or two as examples, and the rest will obey quickly enough." He placed a hand upon Micah's shoulder, continuing, "No doubt the girls will give us some trouble - they will not yet have learned that they are slaves, perhaps. Though I would think it should be clearer to them than to the boys! We shall be able to control them, never fear."

"May we at least not take mind readers?" said Micah. "How many of them could Schuldig hope to keep quiet?"

"We'll keep no mind reader strong enough to have lost her name," said Crawford. "We may have to take such a girl, to let our seriousness of purpose be known. But we'll probably kill her as a warning to the others." He looked intently into Micah's face, saying, "We cannot afford to be squeamish."

"They'll hunt us down," said Micah.

"Not if we make it too costly. A mixture of bargaining and force - they'll let us vanish. We are _strong_ , Micah. Few mind readers are as strong as Schuldig, my visions are accurate, Nagi is stronger yet. We can defeat what they send against us."

"Can we?" said Micah morosely. "My abilities are small compared with yours."

"You're intelligent. You can use what you have," said Crawford. "Farfarello has no such abilities at all, yet you could hardly call him weak. They underestimate us, brother."

"They will not once we begin," muttered Micah. "Are you _sure_ we can break away? Bradley, it is not too late. No one knows of your plan - would it not be sensible to bend the neck to them? Do they not treat us well enough?"

"We have been over this ground before," said Crawford. "Don't be afraid! Courage, Micah! We will look down on all those who sought to break us to their will."

"I would like to go back to India," said Micah, after a moment's silence. "We will go to Virginia, you and I, and see my parents. Then I will show you India - you will love it, Bradley! I was never so happy --" he paused and looked away, wiping at his eyes. "Forgive me," he said quietly, his voice queerly desolate. "My work there was important and I felt most appreciated by our erstwhile masters. It was rewarding and engaging. I was sorry to leave."

"Was it so pleasurable?" said Crawford. "I thought both the Europeans and the natives scorned you?"

"Most of them," said Micah softly. "There was a girl I'd have married if I could --"

"Ah," said Crawford. "But you felt you would not receive permission?"

"Yes," sighed Micah. "That, and she was already married."

Crawford pushed his spectacles further up his nose, unsure of what to say. "Do the natives have divorce?" he said finally.

"She was not Indian," said Micah. "Another problem! When the call came to leave I thought of taking her away -- but it was better to leave, I thought. She had said most unkind things to me, though that was because she was afraid." He looked in Crawford's eyes solemnly. "Let us hope the child was her husband's," he said. He rubbed at his face, continuing, "I had told myself I cared nothing for the outcome, till I gained a brother back and found what it was to have a family once more. I wish I knew --"

Crawford took his hand, squeezing it tightly. "We'll find out. If I have a niece or nephew I won't let them be raised as another's. I'm glad that has been a worry I have been spared."

"Are you sure?" said Micah, curling his fingers about Crawford's, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Crawford was silent, his eyes downcast.

  


* * *

  
_Schlo Rosenkreuz, 1870_

  
Crawford leaned back against the wall of the kitchen block, taking his ease in the sudden warmth of spring. Beside him his second-in-command, Franz Scherer, boxed the ears of a younger boy who had unwisely answered his queries without a respectful "Herr Scherer" appended to his words. Crawford flicked a glance at the punishment being administered and decided it was not excessive. His group was one that many of the boys in the Schlo aspired to, for the students all said that beatings within the group were administered only to those who deserved them, and once within the circle protection against all the students outside it was absolute. The younger boy's whines and apologies stopped as Franz straightened and looked across the courtyard.

"Crawford," he said into Crawford's mind. "Look at what's coming."

"I'm not blind," answered Crawford in like manner, pushing away from the wall and adjusting the spectacles no one had been foolish enough to mock him for wearing for some years. All about him boys fell silent as they watched the group of girls, watchful and wary, cross the courtyard. There were far fewer girls in the Schlo than boys, a fact that had been discussed amongst the students many times, the majority of the boys being of the opinion that girls were as naturally inferior in the allocation of supernatural abilities as they were in the averages of height and strength. The approaching group stopped some twenty feet from the boys, the more wary of them looking behind them as boys from other groups stood in knots, whispering to each other. Crawford waited until the moment before the eldest of the girls was about to speak, and smiled coolly.

"Ladies," he said. "To what do we owe the honour?"

The eldest of the girls, a Danish maiden with pale hair, scowled at him. "Crawford --" she started.

"She knows your name," sniggered Franz. "It must be love."

"Shut up, Franz," Crawford said easily. "What do you want, Andersson?"

"An alliance," she said, glaring at Franz and at the other boys who laughed in an uncouth manner.

"An alliance?" said Crawford. "Why?"

"One of ours was assaulted last night," said Andersson.

"How is that my problem?" asked Crawford. "She was alone I heard - such foolishness deserves whatever befalls it, don't you think? It wasn't one of my people that did it." He directed a quelling glance at two boys attempting to circle round behind the girls. "Why should we help you? Get your own revenge. You have nothing that interests us."

"I want to speak to you privately," said Andersson, ignoring the boys as they laughed all the more loudly and made obscene suggestions.

"Privately?" said Crawford, leaning back against the sun-warmed wall, enjoying the heat through his uniform jacket. "What a queer thing to say. I have mind readers, you have mind readers. What privacy could there be? Make your statement in public or not at all."

Andersson's lips thinned and she made an abrupt gesture. Her second-in-command, a tall English girl, pushed a shivering child out in front of their group. Andersson gave the little girl a further push, shoving her into reach of the boys.

"A hostage," she snapped. "For our good behaviour while we talk."

"Hello, my sweet," Franz said, lifting the girl's chin ungently and smiling as she quivered.

"And you haven't asked for one of ours. You must be desperate," said Crawford.

"Unattractive in a woman," said Franz, pulling the child closer to him.

"Keep her unharmed," Crawford murmured. "I'll speak to Andersson alone."

"Do you want me to listen?" Franz's voice said within his mind.

"Don't be stupid," thought Crawford. "Of course I want you to listen." It was not as if he could stop Franz anyway, which made it better to order him to do as his natural inclinations pushed him. It made other orders more likely to be followed. "I mean it," he thought. "Keep that girl untouched." Without another moment he stepped closer to the girls and with mocking courtesy escorted Andersson to the middle of the courtyard, out of earshot of both groups. That everyone who could was eavesdropping, he had no doubt, but the illusion of privacy was as important in the Schlo as the real thing.

"What do you have that could possibly make me offer you an alliance?" he said without preamble.

"It's what you have," she said. "Everyone says you're not as bad as you could be - and I think you like that. You like people wanting your attention for reasons other than fear."

"If you're not afraid of me you haven't been listening to the right people," Crawford scowled, making himself angry. Andersson could feel what others felt, and he didn't want her thinking she understood him or could manipulate him.

"You don't treat the younger children the harsh way some do. You don't have insubordinate followers beaten half to death. You're _fair_ , Crawford. Not many boys in your position have such a name. Be fair to _us_ and we'll fight your battles. No one will forget the boy who at one stroke gained so many more followers."

Crawford looked down at her, shaking his head. "You're speaking from a position of weakness. You're already afraid of what will happen if you fight by yourselves and lose. Accept what happened and don't let your people be foolhardy in future. I'll give you safe passage back to where the instructors can see you. I'll even give you back your hostage."

"There aren't enough of us," said Andersson furiously. "There are almost five times as many boys!"

"As I said, a position of weakness," said Crawford. "Well, if you are really so desperate -- I don't want an alliance, Andersson. I want your allegiance." He gave her a gentle smile. "On your knees and swear fealty."

"No," she spat. "Be damned to you. We'll take our own revenge." As she turned away Crawford caught her arm.

"All right," he said. "You're not as weak-minded as you seemed." He grinned, saying, "There were two futures - one where you cursed me, one where you were prepared to humiliate yourself beyond belief. I hate toadies, Andersson. There are enough of you to be worth my time. You have your alliance."

"You'll find out who's responsible?" she said.

Crawford shrugged. "Every boy in the Schlo knows who's responsible. I wanted to destroy their group anyway. Be in the far cellars tonight. What you do with them is your business." He looked at her closely. "You're lucky you're such a rare commodity. You won't be punished for going too far."

"Is that your opinion," she said, "or your foresight?"

"Both. Let's get back before our people become worried."

"Wait. There is something else. You may consider it part of our alliance, if you like." She raised her chin and looked at him fearlessly. "You're seventeen. You'll be sent out soon."

"Yes," said Crawford. "Perhaps you should have allied yourself with me last year."

"I won't be sent out so quickly, I'll be here at least another year, like all the girls. You know why."

"Yes," said Crawford again, glad he was not a girl, with the additional burdens placed by the Schlo on that sex.

"If I'm given a choice," she said, "I will ask for you."

"Why?" he asked, seeing in her eyes resigned anger and misery.

"Because," she said, turning from him and walking away. "Everyone says you're not as bad as you could be."

Crawford look after her in silence, then strode back to the waiting youths. "Come on, boys," he said grimly, "We're going hunting."


	50. Chapter 50

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
"Throw knives for me to catch!" said Nagi, tugging on Farfarello's sleeve. "Stop working for a while!"

Farfarello gave him a long suffering look, and bent once more to his task of rearranging their belongings in the cart. "Later," he said, regarding his handiwork with some displeasure, as if he were confronted with a jigsaw puzzle that refused to fit neatly into its allotted places.

"You can do that at another time," said Nagi, who felt that he had worked quite long enough that day and was, therefore, concerned that now his friends should also stop their labours and take their ease. "I'll help you!"

"You helped me enough earlier," muttered Farfarello, who had been nonplussed and more than a little annoyed to discover the items and sacks he had set out carefully piled high in the cart. It had taken more time to undo Nagi's aid to the point where he could start once more than he had been in any way happy with. "Are you not needed by Crawford?"

"No," said Nagi, deciding he would not be unhappy to have been chased away by Crawford as well. "He says he can finish up by himself and that I should have some free time."

"Wonderful," breathed Farfarello in a tone that indicated he was not being altogether truthful in the sentiment. "Pester Schuldig, then."

"But I want you to throw knives for me," said Nagi. "Can't you put these things in the cart in the evening? Do it after dinner, Farfarello!"

"Schuldig!" cried Farfarello, turning and waving at the mind reader who sprawled under the awning they had erected to shelter them from the rays of the sun and to catch the evening breeze. "Take him off my hands before I start throwing knives in a way he will not find amusing," he went on in thought, seeing that he had attracted Schuldig's attention.

"You are so moody," murmured Schuldig's voice in his mind. "Like a girl deprived of dances for too long. Is the naughty little boy teasing you too much for your maidenly disposition to stand?"

Farfarello showed his opinion in an uncouth gesture, forcing the smile from his lips as Schuldig's laughter rang gaily within his head.

"See?" said Farfarello to Nagi. "Schuldig wants you. Quick, run. I'll play with you later."

With a heavy sigh Nagi left him and went, with the exuberant energy of youth, to Schuldig's side. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Ah," said Schuldig. "A good question. Maybe I should drill you in the _Dativ_ , what do you think?" He grinned at Nagi's scowling face, for although Nagi's desire to improve his command of the German tongue was real, he found Schuldig's lessons in grammar wearisome, the young German's pedagogical method relying as it did in the main on sarcasm and mockery. "No?" said Schuldig mildly. "Then sit, and relay information on Crawford's doings."

"He's taking a last few notes, he said," said Nagi.

"How can there be anything left that he has not recorded?" laughed Schuldig.

"I think he's sad to leave it," said Nagi with a sigh, for the thought of Crawford's sorrow seemed an unhappy thing to him. "But he said we need to go, and that you'd be happy."

" _Ja_ ," said Schuldig in satisfaction. "So I shall be. He's still down there, you say? Perhaps I should make sure he's not weeping in secret, and should console him."

"Oh, he's not lonely," said Nagi. "He's talking to Micah." His voice faltered at Schuldig's scowl.

"What are they talking about?" asked Schuldig. "What?" he continued at Nagi's helpless shrug, "How can I make anything of you if you won't even spy on your friends for me?" He settled himself more comfortably, muttering, "I shall just have to see for myself."

"Schuldig!" said Nagi, shaking his friend's shoulder. "That's very rude! What if they are having private conversation?"

"Precisely," said Schuldig. "Stop shaking me! I can't concentrate!"

"They were only speaking of the native art when I left," said Nagi. "Ask Crawford later, Schuldig. I'm bored, I want you to do something with _me_!"

"Maybe I will," mused Schuldig. "Here, sit here --" So saying he pulled the lad into an embrace, settling him between his legs so Nagi leant back against him. "Now," said Schuldig, "I want you to think very hard about the times you have been able to tell what Micah is feeling - everything you can remember, Nagi! Don't squirm about so! We both need to be comfortable!"

"Wait!" cried Nagi as Schuldig held him immobile with an arm tight about his waist, and put his hand on the lad's brow. "Are you going to hurt me again?"

"No," said Schuldig in a comforting tone, stroking Nagi's hair back. "I was sorry to hurt you before, Nagi, I won't do it again, don't worry. I shall take my time with you on this occasion. It's all right. Shhh. Let's start things easily. What am _I_ feeling?"

"Annoyed," said Nagi after a little. "And jealous. Why are you jealous of Micah, Schuldig?"

"Let us concentrate on more important matters," muttered Schuldig. "How about Farfarello?"

"Murderous," giggled Nagi, watching Farfarello fling sacks from the cart and begin his labours yet again.

"How interesting to see your mind at work like this," said Schuldig in tones of professional interest. "Do that again, I want to be certain of how it feels." He wiped his hand, which had grown damp with perspiration, on his knee and placed it back on Nagi's forehead. "Now, concentrate. Let us see if there may be anything different when you can tell what dear Micah is feeling --"

Obedient to his friend's command, Nagi thought very hard about the times he had been sure he had felt what Micah felt, thinking especially of how Micah had been worried about the _dov_ creeping about in the dark during the sandstorm. It was hard to keep his mind as concentrated as Schuldig seemed to want, however, for the late afternoon was very hot and he felt safely comfortable and sleepy, his thoughts continually sliding away to other matters.

"Bah!" ejaculated Schuldig in disgust. "These memories don't tell me anything I want to know. We shall have to do this when you are concentrating on Micah when he is present before us."

"Won't he think it queer of us, though?" said Nagi, "He will surely know you're reading my mind and wonder why."

"I don't _have_ to be wrapped round you," said Schuldig cheerfully. "It is quicker like this, certainly, but it is really for the ease of the other person rather than me."

"Oh," said Nagi, remembering Schuldig's touch and the sudden pain in his head. Though it hadn't felt very easy to him then, his friend's attentions were usually comforting, he thought. "Why can't I feel whatever it is you're doing?" he asked, wondering if it were possible to detect a mind reader within one's head.

"Do you want to?" said Schuldig. "Like this?"

Nagi squirmed as he suddenly felt that he was not alone in his mind, as if the hug in which he was held had somehow entered into his head as well, and as if he were being tickled. "That's nice," he breathed, feeling himself sinking deep into pleasurable indolence.

"Isn't it?" murmured Schuldig, his breath tickling Nagi more as he laughed quietly. "Much nicer than when I must seek information quickly, hmm? Do you like me doing this? Shall I send you to sleep like this?" Nagi closed his eyes, thinking he would be quite happy to have a nap, and that he was very glad of Schuldig's friendship and affection. Micah was quite wrong to say such friendship was inappropriate, he thought, for he knew that Schuldig did not care in the least for having those younger than him address him in tones society considered respectful. He blinked his eyes open as he suddenly felt nothing at all within his mind and Schuldig's arms fell away from the embrace in which they had held him.

"Let's start making dinner," said Schuldig in a tone of forced cheer. "Maybe you could fry some of the meat from our latest hunt? I always burn it so!" He pushed Nagi up, saying, "Sleep can wait till another time, Crawford will want his meal!"

"All right," said Nagi, busying himself by floating some of their stock of thorn bushes to the pit they had dug for their fire. They would need to go in search of more, he thought, for they had used much of the more easily accessible bushes already. "Are you upset?" he went on as Schuldig cursed and swore at the frying pan.

"No!" said Schuldig. "I just hate cooking, that's all." He smiled at Nagi, handing the offending item over. "I'll get the oil," he said, turning away abruptly. Nagi sighed, rubbing his hand where their fingers had touched, the feel of Schuldig's sudden agitation quite clear to him. "Mind readers," he thought in unconscious emulation of Micah's opinion, "they are so changeable."

  


* * *

  
"It is a nice night," said Schuldig, leaning upon Crawford's shoulder. "Let's go for a walk in it."

"Now?" said Crawford in amusement. "Everyone is going to sleep, Schuldig. Don't you want to be rested?"

"I rested earlier," said Schuldig, tugging his friend up, "Come on." Not relinquishing his grasp upon his friend's hand, he pulled Crawford way from the dying fire and out of earshot of the little camp. Once out of the circle of firelight the night was very black, the stars bright and shining overhead in a way that they were never seen from the great cities of Earth, the artificial and hissing gaslights robbing the hours of darkness of their solemn and natural majesty. "Crawford," said Schuldig in trepidation, turning within the embrace in which his friend had enfolded him, "I would value your opinion on something."

"Ah," said Crawford, his smile audible in his voice, "You brought me out here to talk. Well, what is it?"

"Do I act inappropriately with Nagi?" said Schuldig, feeling himself blush and growing angry with himself for such childishness.

"You encourage him in childish behaviour," said Crawford. "That is a good thing, though. He'll have little enough time to be a child once we return to Earth, let him enjoy it while he may --" He paused, peering as best he could at Schuldig's distressed face in the darkness. "Schuldig --" he said quietly. "No. No, of course not."

"I knew it!" said Schuldig in vicious triumph. "That troublemaking --"

"Who said such a thing?"

"You don't want to hear it," muttered Schuldig. "And he didn't say it to me, in any case, he said it to Nagi." He drew an irritated breath at hearing Crawford's sigh. "All right, all right," he said. "Let me anticipate your defence: he meant nothing, the lad did not understand, _I_ did not understand, I take everything too personally, I should not be so touchy, I'll calm down if you pet me and tell me everything is as it should be." He smiled tightly as Crawford blinked and stopped the move he had made to stroke Schuldig's hair into neatness. "Nothing to say, Brad?" said Schuldig.

"I have plenty to say," said Crawford. "I'm too tired to argue, Schuldig. We can discuss this at another time."

Schuldig felt queerly bereft as Crawford stepped back, as if he had only then realised he wanted to fight. "Crawford," he said, catching his friend's arm. "Don't be angry with me for saying such things. I know you want us all to be friends, and I have tried, have I not?"

"Have you?" said Crawford.

"I have! I told myself I was stupidly jealous, that it was merely that I felt unhappy that _my_ family could not miraculously appear - I even privately agreed with Farfarello's view that I was simply unused to so little of your attention! I have felt very much like a silly boy, who cannot abide his friend having another friend," said Schuldig, holding tight to Crawford's hand lest he escape. "But though I have tried, I don't like him."

"You don't have to like him," said Crawford patiently. "Come now, no more silliness."

"He doesn't like me," said Schuldig. "When I am so charming! These things he has said to Nagi; the way he agrees with Farfarello's jests; the things he says to you -- You should remonstrate with him."

"Should I?" said Crawford. "Let it roll over you."

"No, listen to me!" cried Schuldig, afire to persuade his friend of the rightness of his point of view. "From the start he has played upon things he considers weaknesses amongst us - Nagi's worry that he is esteemed the less for not being white, the lapses in my memory, your sorrow at not seeing your parents. If he does not discuss religion with Farfarello it is only because he is justly alarmed at the prospect! Are these the acts of a friend to us? Moreover, if he can see a way in which to lessen me in your eyes, he takes it. I am _not_ as light-minded as he says, you know that! And his fine plans for when we have finally gained our freedom - why, what purpose does it serve to drag you back to Virginia but to play further on your grief and give you people from your childhood while rubbing it in _my_ face that I have no one for you to grow to love? And," cried Schuldig warming to his theme as he saw more grievances within his friend's mind, "you have lost your family so he will give you a nephew or niece? Pah! How convenient! Am I expected to come on this family excursion, or am I to sit in Europe embroidering handkerchiefs? Well? Say something -- why do you wall your mind off from me? Crawford? Don't hide things from me!" Suddenly distraught, he seized Crawford by both arms, thinking he had annoyed his friend too much and that he now believed every opinion of Micah's on mind readers.

"You are right," said Crawford simply.

Schuldig breathed out, an incredulous smile crossing his narrow face.

"He in no way approves of our friendship and wishes to replace you in my affections," said Crawford in his most matter of fact tone.

The smile dropped from Schuldig's lips. "Well, that is ridiculous," he said, feeling nonetheless hurt at the emotionless way in which Crawford had said such a thing, as if he were merely commenting on the weather. "He's your brother, unless he has changed his tune on that score."

"Schuldig --" started Crawford, then shook his head ruefully. "Try not to be sillier than you must. He is as jealous of you as you are of him - I am exhausted with the way the pair of you stalk about each other with your competing claims: his of family and yours of friendship. Can you both not accept that neither of you is threatened --"

"Am I not your family?" interrupted Schuldig. "You've said it to all of us before, we're your family. Is he better than us because those in Schlo Rosenkreuz think he shares your blood? You see, I do not say he is a liar - I say merely that he, like you, may have been _misled_ by faulty information."

"Of course you are," said Crawford. "But this is different -- you do not want me to think of you as a brother, do you?" he said, trying to lighten the moment.

"You're humouring me," said Schuldig. "You're _humouring_ me." Ruthlessly he stamped down the feeling of deep hurt and glared at Crawford. "You're not _listening_ ," he said.

"Schuldig," snapped Crawford. "You're an idiot. You want me to throw away an ally as proof of affection. I will not. He wants me to distance myself from you as proof of affection. I will not."

"I'm just a subordinate to you," muttered Schuldig, "now that you have your _brother_."

"I _had_ subordinates," said Crawford, "our masters put me over you and Farfarello. Now I have no masters, no subordinates - I have only friends. And family, if you will. We are equals, and we are free. Micah's silliness cannot drive me from you -- do you think me a fool who believes you bring only disaster to your friends? And your silliness will not drive me from him -- really, Schuldig! Do you think there is another man in all the worlds as infuriating as you? I should be bored with anyone else."

Seeing that the walls were no longer firm about his friend's mind, Schuldig felt a little more at ease, letting the tension fall from his frame. "Maybe I have been foolish," he allowed. "No doubt Nagi misremembered what Micah had said to him, which caused me to misinterpret things in the worst light." He let Crawford draw him closer, murmuring, "All the same, you would tell me if I were being inappropriate with Nagi, wouldn't you?"

"Of course," said Crawford quietly. "But you are not. Don't forget, I _know_ you my friend. You have nothing to worry about."

"I'd _hate_ it," said Schuldig in a thin voice. "I'd rather die. And you'd hate me too."

"I'll never hate you," said Crawford. "Come now, we are too good friends to be unhappy so long. Humour _me_ , and cheer up." He lifted Schuldig's hand to his cheek and smiled at the lightening of the misery in the mind reader's eyes. "Oh, Schuldig," said Crawford quietly. "Don't you know that only death could make me stop being your friend?" As he said it, he felt something within him turn over and knew he spoke with foresight. Though he at once tried to hide it within the defences he had been trained to erect about his mind it was too late, and horror suffused Schuldig's countenance as he put his other hand over his eyes, as if to hide from whatever it was he saw within Crawford's mind.

" _Gott_ ," said Schuldig brokenly, " _Ach, mein Gott._ "


	51. Chapter 51

_The ruined city, 1880_

  
Nagi awoke, feeling something was wrong. The early morning light was creeping into the tent, and he was sure it would soon be time to arise and begin the business of the day. Perhaps, he thought sleepily, he should ask Crawford for a pocket watch. The thought of his older friend alerted him to what was unusual about his manner of waking, for he was not enfolded in the cosy safety he was by now so used to. Instead he was securely covered with a blanket, and curled up at the edge of the bedrolls, though he had made sure to lie down in the centre the night before. Rolling over, he saw Crawford and Schuldig, arms wrapped as tight about each other as could be, huddled under their blankets. Feeling a little put out that he should have been moved from what he now considered his customary place of repose and thinking that Schuldig must have kept him asleep while he was so moved, Nagi crept a little closer, still wrapped in his blanket like a creature half-boy half-caterpillar. At once he saw that Crawford was awake, a thing Nagi thought most unusual, as Crawford was accustomed to rise almost as soon as his eyes opened in the morning.

"Good morning," said Nagi.

Crawford lifted his gaze from Schuldig's sleeping face and fastened it upon Nagi, whispering, "Shhh."

Nagi nodded solemnly. "Is he still asleep?" he whispered.

Crawford merely raised an eyebrow, as if he were disappointed to be so immediately disobeyed, and Nagi fell silent, watching them. Schuldig who normally slept, as it were like a cat, so diligent and earnest did his efforts towards comfortable oblivion seem, looked strained and unhappy, as if he had fallen asleep while weeping and would resume this lamentable occupation upon his arousal to the waking world once more. Crawford, too, bore the signs of an unrestful night, the dark circles under his eyes plainly visible and his face drawn with the marks of misery. Nagi was alarmed at this sight, for it seemed to him inconceivable that Crawford should be afflicted by such ordinary things as sleepless nights.

"Would you like some coffee?" he inquired in the merest breath of a voice.

Crawford shook his head slightly, turning his attention quickly to Schuldig as the mind reader muttered and moved restlessly. "Shh, everything is all right, go back to sleep," he murmured in response to Schuldig's sleepy utterance of, "Brad --"

"Oh, I didn't mean to wake him!" cried Nagi loudly.

Crawford sighed as Schuldig's eyes flew open. Nagi's embarrassment at his silliness turned to alarm at the fright and sorrow in Schuldig's face. "Schuldig," he said, patting his friend's arm, "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," said Schuldig shortly, scrubbing at his eyes and not meeting Nagi's gaze. "I was having a bad dream."

"But that is not as bad as _Crawford_ having a bad dream," said Nagi to reassure Schuldig that he had been subject only to the queer fantasies that might afflict any sleeping mind, and had not seen anything that might in truth come to pass. His voice died away as the feeling of wrongness and misery that had been worrying at him for some time became stronger and Schuldig turned away to embrace Crawford wearily.

"I think perhaps we would like some coffee after all," said Crawford. "Would you make some for us, Nagi? You make it so very well."

"Yes," Nagi said, patting Schuldig's bowed head. "I'll make sure it's very nice." Saying no more he left the tent and rushed to the fire to start the preparation of the morning meal also, for he felt sure that his friends would feel better if they but ate. "Oh, they have been working too hard and not taking enough care of their health," thought Nagi in worry. "I will make sure they get my share of the dried fruit in their porridge." He felt quite pleased at this self-sacrifice, this pleasure being immediately followed by worry that there would not be enough fruit to last until they returned to the city, and he would have to eat his porridge in a plain state, without even sugar, for their supplies were low. "We shall have to hunt all the time," he thought sadly, seeing a diet of the native sheep stretch before him. This displeased him greatly, for although he would in his past have been glad of any food at all, his association with his friends had accustomed him to plenty of tasty things and to little treats, for they all took some enjoyment in spoiling him and indulging his childish love for sweet things. Thinking that only the most selfish of boys would deny a friend's needs, however, he surreptitiously looked about him and took an extra spoonful of sugar to add to Schuldig's bowl. "That will make him happy again," thought Nagi with satisfaction, anticipating already how good it would be to see his friend's gay smile once more.

Within the tent, Crawford set Schuldig back a little, looking into his unhappy face. "Come now," he said. "No more weeping, we must get up and finish the preparations for our departure. There's so much we must do, Schuldig."

"There are years of things we need to do," said Schuldig in a low voice.

"Well, we'll finish what we can," said Crawford gently. "No, no! Schuldig, please --"

"But it's my fault," said Schuldig, trying to obey Crawford's desire and wiping at his eyes angrily. " _Mine!_ All this time, you've seen that I'll be gone. So, it will be my fault when you break your neck trying to reach some old pot, or mislay your spectacles and do not see the Martians creeping up behind you. When will this happen, Crawford? When?"

"I am hardly absent-minded," said Crawford, smiling despite himself at his friend's agitation. "I'll do my best not to fall and break my neck." No intimation of the future brushed against him to deny this, a fact of which he was most terribly glad, as he had no desire to meet such a mean and ignominious end. "As for when," he went on, "The future has not yet vouchsafed that to me. All I can say is that I still see the desert, so that it must surely be before we return to New London, and that by that time I am alone."

"Why will I be gone?" said Schuldig. "What stupid fit of _pique_ causes me to abandon you?"

"Hush," said Crawford. "I haven't seen a cause, just that I'm alone."

"And that you _die_ ," said Schuldig grimly. "And that it shall be _my fault_."

"I did not see that," said Crawford. "Don't blame yourself ahead of time, Schuldig, and don't be so eager to cast yourself in the wrong!" He threw back the blankets, not wishing to continue such a track of conversation and risk Schuldig blaming himself until the mind reader could think of nothing else and became distracted and ill with misery. "Let's get up," he said. "Nagi will be bringing us our coffee - and our breakfast!" he added, suddenly seeing that this would indeed be so.

"I'm up, I'm up," said Schuldig, springing to his feet, his voice suddenly carefree though his eyes were still shadowed. "See?"

"You are indeed," smiled Crawford, as they both turned toward the tent opening, their differing abilities alerting them to the arrival of their coffee. "Ah, thank you, Nagi," said Crawford as the lad came in, bearing two cups in his hands. "This is very welcome, isn't it, Schuldig?"

"Yes," said Schuldig sipping his coffee. "Thank you."

"Are you feeling better?" asked Nagi with hope. "I have made your breakfast. I put extra sugar on your porridge," he whispered to Schuldig. "And you can have my dried fruit too." He felt displeased that he could not stop a childish squeak of surprise as Schuldig suddenly, with his unnatural speed, embraced him tightly and kissed the top of his head.

"You are very good to me," said Schuldig, his voice almost as gay as it usually was. "We shall be out directly, Nagi. Run along for a moment, _Kaninchen_." He smiled as Nagi obeyed his injunction, rushing from the tent once more. "You see?" said Schuldig, turning again to Crawford. "No more weeping. It serves nothing. I shall enjoy every moment of your company while I still have it." He brushed Crawford's hair back, noting how his friend's eyes were darkly circled with tiredness and worry. "And I will not let you die," he went on in thought, before changing back to impassioned speech.

"I am going to save you."

  


* * *

  
 _Schlo Rosenkreuz, 1873_

  
Schuldig idly dipped his pen in the inkwell and flicked it to one side, keeping his mind quite calm and full of theorems. The boy beside him, a French lad named Jean, snarled quietly as his neatly drawn diagrams were splattered with black drops. Such inexcusable sloppiness would earn him a beating and the mockery of his classmates, but disrupting the class to remonstrate with Schuldig would earn him a worse beating. He subsided into glowering silence and Schuldig directed a tight and amused smile at Antoine, seated two desks ahead, calling the Belgian boy quietly with his mind. Antoine peeped round with a little grin, for he and Jean were engaged in perpetual warfare and the image Schuldig provided of the ruined work seemed very funny to him. Heartened by this, and feeling sure that he and those of the boys whom he could influence would help him defeat Jean and his friends, Schuldig flicked more ink onto Jean's desk, following this assault with as strong a mental admonition as he could that Jean should squawk like a chicken. The French boy clapped his hand over his mouth and managed, with some red-faced effort to turn the sound into a cough.

"Stop that noise, Duval," said Fraulein Albrecht.

"Sorry, Fraulein," said Jean, rising respectfully and bowing. He sat again, scowling at the surreptitious laughter, both audible and mental, that rippled around the room. "You'll pay," he mouthed at Schuldig, who raised his eyebrows and replied with a vague and innocent smile.

The lesson was never ending, thought Schuldig, imagining what a pleasure it would be to leave the stuffy classroom and have his dinner. There was a rumour that the students would be given fruit for dessert and he had already chosen the unfortunate younger boys who would be forced to hand over their treats to him. The torture of sitting quietly was almost more than he could bear, and he could not bring himself to pay more than cursory attention. He snapped fully awake as he became aware that Fraulein Albrecht was walking between the rows of desks, examining the students' work. _Thwack_. Schuldig frowned. The English boy, Palmer, was sloppy in his work yet for some reason was unfairly favoured by Fraulein Albrecht. He deserved more than _one_ blow of her cane. He proffered his exercise book as she stopped by him and breathed a sigh of relief when she put it down again, wordlessly and turned to face Jean.

"Your work is abominably untidy and dirty, Duval," she snapped. "Stand up!"

"Fraulein Albrecht --" started Jean miserably, his words changing to a hiss of pain as the cane came down on his knuckles.

"Stand up when you address me," said Fraulein Albrecht angrily.

Jean stood and winced as his messy theorems were ripped from his notes and flung on the desk. "It's not my fault!" he cried unwisely.

"Don't raise your voice to me!" snapped Fraulein Albrecht. "Hold out your hand! Hold it _out_ , Duval."

 _Thwack_. Schuldig kept his eyes politely on his own notes and enjoyed the noises Jean was making in his mind, as he, like all students being punished, was not allowed give audible voice to his misery. By the time Jean had been caned for both possessing untidy work and for the sin of raising his voice to an instructor both his hands were reddened and bruised, and he sat with tears of pain shining in his eyes. Fraulein Albrecht resumed her position at the head of the room. "Let us consider," she said as the chalk drew a complicated plan on the board behind her, "the practical uses to which our knowledge of geometry might be put."

The boys tried not to groan, for mechanics and engineering, though necessary, seemed more than they could bear after a class on mathematics. Obediently they copied down the problem on the board and, one and all, stared at their notes with the incomprehension of all fifteen and sixteen year old schoolboys who long for freedom and food.

"If only," thought Schuldig, "we had had fencing this afternoon! Or firearms!" He found little to enjoy in the more academic of his classes even if, as it turned out, this particular class would involve discussions of the effects of explosives. It was not as much fun as actually using dynamite.

"Fournier," said Fraulein Albrecht. "Explain to the class how one discovers the weakest point of the wall in this example."

Antoine stood, a look of panic on his face. "One, um, measures the -- length?" he said desperately.

"And? Which of the geometrical problems you have spent the last hour working on might be applicable?" said Fraulein Albrecht, glancing at the board.

"I -- don't know, Fraulein Albrecht," whispered Antoine, looking down from the savagely pleased gaze she turned upon him. "I'm sorry, Fraulein."

"Now," whispered Jean with satisfaction to Schuldig, "let's see how funny you find it when she breaks her cane over _your_ friend's hands!"

Schuldig scowled, thinking, "Shut up, idiot!" Antoine was not his friend, he told himself. That the older boy followed him about and laughed at his jokes meant nothing. His jokes were, after all, extremely funny. Anyone would laugh at them. It didn't matter that Antoine sought his opinion above that of every other student, that he followed Schuldig's lead and example in every action. What did Schuldig care if he was to be punished for laziness and stupidity? If it were not the Belgian lad it would be another boy, for the instructors liked to make examples and thereby keep their students cowed and afraid. No, Schuldig thought, he would not give Jean and his friends the satisfaction of looking unhappy when Antoine was beaten, not even if Fraulein Albrecht broke his fingers along with her cane, which she was thinking about at that very moment. Schuldig looked hard at his desk, hoping no one had noticed such disrespect. Reading an instructor's mind uninvited was a very great sin indeed, and he would not escape with a mere caning if anyone felt moved to report his actions. "Let Antoine suffer," he thought viciously. "At least it's not me." Maybe he'd give him an extra apple later. _Thwack!_ The whole class of boys shook a little at the force of the blow. Antoine went white and supported his wrist with his other hand to keep his hand outstretched and steady. It didn't matter, thought Schuldig, glaring at the wood of his desk as Jean sniggered beside him. So what if Antoine had hit that bigger boy who'd been looking for trouble last year? Schuldig could have managed. So what if Antoine silently held his hand when he returned to the dorm after seeing an angry Herr Dorfmann, and never complained, even when Schuldig crushed his fingers with the force of his grip, the same fingers Fraulein Albrecht now wanted to break?

Schuldig looked up from his desk.

"Hey," he drawled, leaning back in his chair in a vulgar manner. "How come you never got married, Fraulein Albrecht? There must be a man out there somewhere who likes a girl with a temper."

The silence in the room was so deep it seemed solid. Everyone looked at him and he grinned. "I mean," he went on, "it's not that you're so bad looking, even if you're a bit past your best years. What do you think, lads? Adele'd be quite pretty if she did her hair another way --" He smiled charmingly up at her as she reached his desk.

"You will refer to me as 'Fraulein Albrecht'," she said in a cold voice.

"It's that standoffishness that keeps you a spinster," said Schuldig, noting out of the corner of his eye that Antoine had sunk safely down into his seat. "You're a bit old for me, but if you haven't found anyone in a year or two I might be charit--" He caught his breath as her cane slashed neatly across the half-healed duelling wound on his left cheek. No one laughed. That was interesting, he thought past the pain. This might yet be something that could win him an advantage with someone. "You're such a feisty girl, Adele," he said, keeping the tremor from his voice. "You must like being the only woman in this room of young men, it must be quite thrilling for you to have our attention. Doesn't it scare you at _all?_ How much of our attention would you like, Ade--" The cane caught him across the other cheek.

"Be quiet, you stupid boy," she cried.

"There are a lot of us," said Schuldig, suddenly furious. "A _lot_ , Adele. Do you really think the other instructors could reach you in time?"

With an obscenity he could not control, he found himself flying backwards through the air to hit the far wall of the classroom, his desk splintering against the stones by his head. Fraulein Albrecht stalked down the room towards him, desks overturning as she passed both from her fury and from the haste of the boys sitting at them to remove themselves from her gaze. "Sit down, boys," she said quietly. "Carry on with the problem."

Schuldig forced a smile back onto her face, for he knew that, just as he could not have deviated from his course once begun lest he lose all influence and admiration from the other boys, so she, in order to repair her damaged authority, must now deal with him without recourse to the aid of the other instructors, now that he had invoked them as the reason for her safety. "Bear up," he told himself. "You will be all the more esteemed for it."

"Let down your hair," he said cheekily, finding himself pinned spread-eagled against the wall. "Wear a little rouge."

"You foolish child," she hissed. "You think to threaten me? You little animal, you need more rigorous training in how to speak to your betters." Her cane hit him hard across the stomach and he bit the inside of his lip to keep from crying. Like many of those who could move things with their minds, Fraulein Albrecht was small and thin and, one would think, unable to hit with quite so much force. Near the head of the room, Antoine had half-risen from his desk, a look of horror in his face. "Do you think that because you are rare in your strengths that you will escape punishment? You will very much regret this day, Schuldig," said Fraulein Albrecht and, without turning her head, snapped, "Sit _down_ , Fournier!"

"Yes," thought Schuldig with all his might, "Sit down, Antoine. Please, sit down." To his relief, the other boy sat again, his eyes fixed sorrowfully upon Schuldig's face. "You wouldn't last long without your cane," he said aloud, to keep his tormentor's mind fixed firmly on him.

"I do not need it," said Fraulein Albrecht in an almost kind voice, dropping it to the floor. She raised her hands and Schuldig felt a wind begin to swirl up out of nowhere, the same odd smell of lightning that came with storms tickling his nose. As the air seemed to thicken before him and one boy after another fled the room, crying out for the other instructors to come quickly, Schuldig smiled. No one could say he was a coward or that he had backed down like a snivelling baby, the other boys would not lose respect for him. And he'd protected a friend. He hoped he'd be able to tell Antoine that was what he was, after.

Everything went black.


	52. Chapter 52

_The uncharted Martian wastes, 1880_

  
Crawford sat atop his _dov_ looking around him as calmly as if his head were not pounding unmercifully. He caught Schuldig's eye and smiled faintly. "I am very sorry," said Schuldig's voice in his mind, "but I cannot help you with the pain. If I could, I believe I would attend to my own headache first!" Crawford made no attempt to answer, simply pulling the brim of his hat further down to shade his eyes, and slipping off his spectacles and putting them safely away in their lacquer case. He should not, he thought ruefully, have let Schuldig be so persuasive in his views on the proper way in which to celebrate their leaving of the city. It was difficult to deny Schuldig's whims at the best of times, and as the mind reader's misery had seemed to lift at the prospect of being indulged, Crawford had willingly acceded to the request that they have a party once all the preparations for departure had been fulfilled. They had dragged together as much of the thorn bushes as they could, and Micah had had them ablaze in a cheerful fire in a matter of mere moments, the wood being very dry indeed. They had then made their dinner as palatable as possible and eaten the small luxuries that Crawford felt he could scarce deny his friends, they having been laid aside against this very day. Nagi had fallen upon his share of the preserves and sweets with a fervour that suggested he felt he had never eaten before that meal, and had stolen sips of his older friends' wine until Crawford felt moved to take official notice lest he become ill. Crawford himself and the other young men had both drunk their share of the wine and toasted each other in _schnapps_ until the bottle that they had brought of that Teutonic liqueur was quite empty. It was only when Schuldig had drunkenly suggested that their medicinal brandy should also be consumed that Crawford demurred and had pulled Schuldig down into his lap where the young mind reader had immediately fallen asleep in a manner that made Farfarello regret their lack of photographic equipment. Now they were all more solemn in their demeanour, Schuldig appearing grave and sensible in all his slow movements, Farfarello and Micah silent and with their eyes fixed upon the horizon, Nagi looking about him with a hollow and weary gaze. Feeling it a proper lesson in the hazards of being ruled by strong drink, Crawford said nothing more about it to the lad, and gave him an encouraging smile as he drew level on his _dov_.

"When can we stop?" asked Nagi in a little voice.

"Not for some time," said Crawford. "You surely cannot want lunch already!" As the lad's face whitened and he looked ill, Crawford relented, saying, "Do you want to ride with me?"

"No," said Nagi through clenched teeth. "I am quite all right, Crawford."

"Good boy," said Crawford quietly, approving Nagi's attempt at fortitude. "You will manage quite well, I am sure of it."

Nagi smiled slightly, and bowed his head over his mount's neck, his hat for once firmly and voluntarily in place. Crawford, assured that all was as well with his friends as it could be, went back to grimly concentrating on his _dov_ , glad that the great beasts were trained well enough so that their time of indolence and rest had not made them intractable and more difficult to control.

By the time they had to stop to shelter from the worst of the sun, all of them were feeling a little better. They erected their awning and crept beneath it to doze the afternoon away. As the sun's heat lessened, Crawford awoke to find he had become the pillow of both Schuldig and Nagi, both of whom lay curled atop of him. With a groan, Crawford pushed at them till they reluctantly moved.

"Oh," he muttered. "You have made me so stiff!" He staggered upright and squinted out at the sands, wishing for nothing more than to continue sleeping. Instead, he shook his friends, crying, "Up! No more sloth, we can travel for at least another two hours before we must stop for the night!"

"Water," groaned Nagi piteously, and Crawford handed out the rations of that precious liquid, now restricted only to the vital purpose of drinking, they having left the well so far behind. In a short space of time they had refreshed themselves and taken down the awning, ready to travel onwards. The rest of the day, while wearisome, contained no difficulties and by the time they had stopped to make camp for the night the young men felt themselves once more.

"Make yourself comfortable, Crawford," said Farfarello with an innocent smile. "Lest Schuldig be overcome once more and need to nap like a baby!"

"I cannot help being more delicate in myself," said Schuldig. "Unlike you, my race does not predispose me to frequenting the use of alcohol, and my constitution is altogether more refined."

"I believe I am by far the more abstemious of us," said Farfarello gently. "And probably the only one without a sore head today!"

"You looked as green as poor little Nagi," grinned Schuldig.

"I was quite well!" cried Nagi as Farfarello laughed, saying,

"I will admit to a little seasickness."

"I am glad you are all so much recovered, but as my head still aches I'd be obliged if you did not raise your voices," said Micah sadly, picking up small pieces of thorn bush and watching them burn.

"Still?" said Crawford in some worry.

"It's the heat, that's all," said Micah. "The cool of the night shall cure me, I have no doubt."

"Well," said Crawford, "if you are sure that you're simply suffering the effects of the heat, Micah --"

"I'm not like Schuldig, to be able to seem so well so quickly," sighed Micah.

"He is always like that," said Crawford, feeling obscurely proud of such an achievement by his friend. "If he is hurt he heals more quickly than would you or I, too. Farfarello also shares that good luck."

"Good luck, indeed," said Micah enviously. "You don't consider it, then, to be an effect that will cause his body to degenerate at a faster rate than it should?"

Crawford looked at him in silence for a moment, finally saying, "What? What do you know you haven't told me, Micah?"

"Nothing," said Micah, looking down as if horrified by the implications of what he had said. "I am not a medical man."

"Micah!" said Crawford fervently.

"Let's speak in private," said Micah, nodding away from the camp.

"Very well," said Crawford grimly, rising to his feet and following the other. "Where are you going?" said Schuldig in his mind. "He wishes to tell me something of his time as a child," thought Crawford. "I'd appreciate some privacy." "Keep your secrets," thought Schuldig gaily. "I'll worm them from you later!" Crawford erected the walls about his mind that his training had taught him to construct, imagining them as strong and secure, for although he was sure Schuldig would mean to keep his word he knew his friend was as curious as most mind readers about the secrets of others.

When they were some distance from the camp Micah turned to him and seized his hand in a state of agitation. "I by no means wished to cause you alarm!" he said. "I presumed you had seen the various reports drawn up by those whose business it is to investigate our physical concerns."

"Explain," said Crawford curtly.

Micah sighed. "I know you do not like me to speak of that time," he said, "but when I was an instructor in the Schlo I took advantage of my admission to the library, and read as widely as I was permitted. It was such a pleasure to read things not directly concerned with my work over the previous years! One of the papers I read concerned a young man - not a mind reader, one who could move things with his mind - who exhibited many of the characteristics I have observed in Schuldig. He could run at great speeds, jump further and higher than other men, and healed at a far faster rate than might have been expected. When he was twenty-one he died, his heart being simply unable to carry on the strain of his accelerated physical state. I'm sorry, Bradley, I thought that perhaps you had read this yourself."

"No," said Crawford. "Schuldig is twenty-two, so I was told. He must be almost twenty-three, in fact."

"I do not think his physical abilities as extreme as the unfortunate young man of whom I read," said Micah. "He has a good appetite, can work as well as any of us and truly, he seems healthy enough, don't you think?"

"Yes," said Crawford, distracted with care. Was this, he wondered, why he saw himself alone? The thought of Schuldig dying suddenly and without warning overcame him, and he turned aside, as if studying the moons that stood high and bright in the sky. "I should be careful not to put him in situations that might strain his heart," he murmured.

"I'm sure he'll still be able to fight for you," said Micah. "He's hardly a bruised and wilting flower!"

Crawford smiled gamely at this attempt to cheer him, his mind full of the empty desert. Surely this was it, he thought. Worn out with exertion and heat, Schuldig would simply die. Although he felt none of the certainty with which his visions usually came to him, he could not shake the thought from his mind. Why would he himself die, he wondered. An attack from the natives? The soldiers taking him unaware? If that happened, he thought, at least Farfarello was likely to fight with such fury that he would not be taken alive and would be spared the hangman's noose. No doubt he and Micah would die in like manner. It was Nagi he had to think of, he mused. He must somehow find a way to ensure that the boy would not be involved in such a combat, not to mention a way that would safeguard him thereafter. He would do it, he thought, Nagi at least would survive. He looked up, suddenly aware he was being spoken to.

"Bradley?" said Micah in concern. "Are you all right? Did you see something?"

"No," said Crawford. "No, I was simply thinking. I'm sure you're right, Micah, and that Schuldig is quite well. Thank you for telling me of that research -- now I know that such a thing is possible, I can take measures to preserve his health." He smiled, continuing with forced cheer, "He is much too stubborn simply to drop down dead! I am sure he will live to give me many grey hairs."

"Yes," said Micah with a smile. He squeezed Crawford's hand in a companionable manner, going on to say, "I am sure your plan to spoil him and give him every luxury will come to pass. Don't think on this any more, brother. As I said, I have no medical learning and I no doubt have interpreted what I read incorrectly. I hope you have many years to satisfy his every desire."

"Yes," said Crawford. "That pleasant wish is one I wholeheartedly will endeavour to see come to fruition. Let us go back to the others, they'll think the _dov_ have eaten us."

Although it was stupid and childish, he could not suppress a moment of pleasure at the flicker of unguarded alarm on Micah's face at such a thought. It was, he mused as they walked quickly back, poor enough recompense for the greater alarm that now suffused his whole being.

  


* * *

  
 _The uncharted Martian wastes, two weeks later_

  
Schuldig swept his hair back from his face, replacing his hat again and longing above all things to possess enough water with which to wash himself from head to toe. "Oh, how we all stink!" he thought in disgust. "I might almost wish myself a girl, if only I could be done with this beard!" He brushed his fingers across the offending feature, feeling sand and dust on his fingers and quite detesting the thought that his young face should be disfigured, as he thought, by this mark of maturity. He glared at Nagi in envy, wishing himself but a boy again, as the lad scratched at his smooth and childish cheek. Schuldig sighed, admitting to himself that such thoughts were no more than an attempt to distract himself from the overwhelming worries that lay in wait at the corners of his mind to attack him whenever he had but a moment to contemplate them. His mind was quite consumed with plans and contingencies to protect Crawford in as many circumstances as he might imagine, and he found it difficult to allow his friend out of his sight for the briefest of moments, a fact that both pleased Crawford as a sign of fidelity and annoyed him as being too cloying in nature. Schuldig paced about the camp, demanding that only the most basic and necessary of their equipment be removed from the cart, so that they might travel on again as quickly as possible the next morning. While he was most pleased to stop for the night, being tired and hot, he felt also the urge to keep moving, to attempt to get as close to civilisation as possible before whatever fate would befall them might occur.

"The wind will change and your face will be stuck that way," laughed Farfarello, flicking at Schuldig's hat so that it flew from his head. "Crawford will make you wear a bag over your head."

"Let me be," snarled Schuldig, snatching up his fallen hat from the sand. "Were you born so stupid or did they train you to be so in the Schlo?"

Farfarello paused, the wickedness of his expression letting any man who knew him easily see that he considered Schuldig to be ripe for the teasing. "I've always considered your moodiness to wax and wane with the moon," he said in his mildest of voices. "Do you find the presence of two such heavenly bodies here to be a trial to you? I'm sure Crawford could find you some pleasant medicine to help you through these troublesome times!"

"Only if he has a pill against idiots!" said Schuldig. "Go away, Farfarello, I am in no mood to indulge your little games."

"Oh, that is because you are off your food -- are you in a delicate condition, _kleines Mdchen_?" said Farfarello with deep solicitousness.

"Will you be silent?" said Schuldig in sudden anger, seeing Micah look his way and quickly hide a smile of amusement. "Let me be, I say! I've had much on my mind of late and I don't want you adding to the annoyances of my life."

"I have barely begin to annoy you," murmured Farfarello, then he stopped, looking more closely at Schuldig's face, grown thinner since they had left the city. "Schuldig?" he said. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," said Schuldig with a false little smile, one that turned to a yelp of surprise as Farfarello pulled him aside and behind an outcropping of rock. "Ah!" he ejaculated, "I have things to do!"

"For a start, you must talk to me," agreed Farfarello. "What is it? Do not hide information from me if I need to know it."

"You must not become over agitated," said Schuldig. "Oh, do not look at me like that, we both know how you are when you become too excited!"

"Very well," said Farfarello, crossing his arms. "I am calm and if not sane, at least sensible. Now, speak!"

Schuldig leaned in close, as if to whisper but at that point decided that even the quietest of voices was too much of a risk and so continued in thought alone. "Crawford has seen his own death," he thought, feeling a traitor as he did so, as if giving mental utterance to the words was what would make the sad event come to pass.

"What?" answered Farfarello in like manner, his countenance made strange and suddenly monstrous to Schuldig in the shock that suffused it, though the mind reader at most times scarce noticed the terrible scars that traversed his companion's face, so used had they become to each other. "What do you mean? When? When and how shall this happen and how may we avert it?"

"I do not know that we can," thought Schuldig in grim answer, "Though I have sworn to him that I shall. It is usual for him to say that his visions concerning a more distant future are not set in stone, that there yet is enough time to change one's actions and so channel the course of events to a path more to one's liking and desires - yet for some time he has seen himself alone, deserted somehow by all of us, out here in these desolate lands. And now he has seen that he shall die - and that I am not there. Farfarello," he thought in agitation, seizing his friend's hand in both his own, "do not let me act like a silly boy, do not let me become offended and leave him! I could not bear it." The thought that he was in truth the cause of Crawford's approaching _demise_ pricked at his eyes and he had to turn away lest he shed tears and so be mocked.

"Don't act like this," thought Farfarello in some alarm, steadying himself against the rock as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet. "How can you say that _you_ might abandon him? Surely nothing any of us could do or say would separate you from one another?" Seeing that Schuldig was quite serious, however, he nodded firmly, going on in the queer manner of communication to which they had all become so accustomed, "Do not fear, I won't let you run off and do something you should later regret." With a sigh as if he were a child forced to relinquish his very favourite toy he continued, "Why I shall even stop teasing you myself. I know you are too gentle and maidenly-minded to withstand such _raillery_ for long!"

"Pah!" ejaculated Schuldig loudly. "As if I gave a fig for your feeble wits and jokes!" He tightened his grasp upon the young Irishman's hand, adding, "Thank you. Do not think I do not appreciate your aid and good sense, Farfarello."

"Well," said Farfarello in mock surprise, "And they say the age of miracles is past!" With a grin made horrible by his disfigurement, he led the way back to the others, and for the rest of the evening was almost as good as his word, making jests about Schuldig only when he could not withstand the lure of some opening the mind reader left him, and looking so comically alarmed at his failure thereafter that Schuldig could in no way take offence. That this was a stratagem designed to allow Farfarello to both, as the saying relates, have his cake and eat it, crossed Schuldig's mind but he forbore to investigate in his relief that he had shared his burden and that now Crawford had two strong protectors rather than simply one.


	53. Chapter 53

_The uncharted Martian wastes, 1880_

  
"Oh, it is so hot!" thought Nagi, fanning his little face and hurriedly replacing the hat with which he had carried out this activity before he could be admonished. "If only I could have a glass of water," he thought sadly, then, as phantasy quite overcame him, he thought, "No, not water! I should like a glass of ginger ale! And a cake, one with chocolate and cream! And some ice cream too!" He sighed, his young mind saddened by the injustices of life, that could see him so very far away from such pleasant fare. He very much did not want to eat porridge, or the meat of the native sheep ever again, and was horribly afraid that Farfarello had not jested when he proposed butchering one of their _dov_. "I won't let them eat you," he promised, patting his great mount on the neck, and was quite sure it depended upon him for its survival. Pleasant imaginings crept into his mind of making logical arguments that would easily persuade Crawford that none of the _dov_ , and especially not his favourite, should be killed. Crawford would be convinced, and Farfarello would have to find his fun elsewhere. After that, thought Nagi, they could train the great beasts to hunt for them, so that the temptation to do murder would be assuaged. He saw himself magnanimously foregoing eating any of the meat himself without, he thought, making any reference to the fact that he could no longer abide it. He would let the others have his share, and he would subsist only on the preserves and other more delectable provisions that Farfarello thought he had hidden from questing and hungry boys. Surely, he thought, fanning himself with his hat once more and feeling his stomach grumble, Crawford would soon say that they should stop for the night? The shadows were longer than they had been, and the day was not as hot as in the mid-afternoon, when they had sheltered from the rays of the sun. It would be very pleasant, thought Nagi, to simply sit in as much comfort as they could, rather than continue their movement across the desert. Sometimes he felt that they would never stop moving, and would never reach New London once more. "Oh, but what shall await us there?" he thought in worry. "I should not like Farfarello to be hanged! And what if Crawford and Schuldig were put into gaol?"

"And you would be put in an orphanage and fed only on gruel and treated most cruelly, just as in one of Mr Dickens' novels!" said Schuldig merrily, having silently brought his _dov_ beside Nagi's. "Don't worry, Nagi," he continued. "We shall not let anything bad happen to any of us -- you must trust Crawford's planning."

"Of course I do!" said Nagi. "How shall he arrange it so that we can leave Mars?"

"Are you sure you want to leave?" asked Schuldig, the shadow that crossed his eyes so fleeting that Nagi was not sure he had seen it. "You won't be able to bring the _dov_ on the ship, you know!"

"Not even mine?" asked Nagi wistfully.

"It would be lonely, don't you think, without others of its kind?" said Schuldig. He sighed, murmuring as if to himself. "We all of us -- man and beast -- want those we know about us." He grinned at Nagi suddenly, looking as young as he truly was, even though his beard made him at other times look queerly older. "We'll have such fun in Europe, you just wait and see!"

"Yes," said Nagi obediently, smiling a little up from under the brim of his hat. He waited for Schuldig to spur his _dov_ forward to catch up with Crawford and Micah, and then frowned. No doubt Schuldig wished to spare him unhappiness by pretending that everything was all right, but Nagi could feel perfectly well that the young mind reader's cheer lay falsely over a pool of misery, in the manner that a thin sheeting of ice might lie across deep and dark cold water. He supposed he would not have been able to so correctly divine his friend's true feelings if he did not know Schuldig so well by now. "How can I shake this queer mood from him?" he thought. "Perhaps Crawford or Farfarello can help me make him gay once again."

Farfarello looked at Nagi slowly as the lad reined in his _dov_ until the cart was trundling peacefully beside him. He indicated the seat beside him wordlessly, and Nagi stopped his _dov_ and scrambled with boyish energy and a boyish lack of grace from his mount to it.

"Don't let Crawford see you riding with me," said Farfarello in the very mild tones he used while joking. "He is most particular that you should not become confused with the supplies. You know mixed-up I can be." He smiled at the lad, continuing, "Are you tired of riding? You may lean upon me and sleep, if you like."

"No, I'm all right," said Nagi. "Farfarello, does Schuldig seem queer to you?"

"He's usually quite queer," said Farfarello with a little smile. "No doubt he is as tired of this travel as are the rest of us."

"No, but don't you think he is not as happy as he was on the way out?" asked Nagi.

"He complained most of the way!" laughed Farfarello. Then, relenting, he said, "He has been tired, Nagi. And he is worried about Crawford's health -- you know well that Crawford can drive himself too hard. That is all."

"Are you sure?" asked Nagi with deep suspicion. "You and he are not hiding things, are you? You have been very polite to him of late." He wondered darkly if he were judged too young to be given information that all the others might share.

Farfarello turned his single, golden eye on Nagi, letting the _dov_ pull the cart as it would. "If he were not so tired," he said, "I would tease him as is usual. I do not wish to add to his burden -- we are friends, after all. Don't quiz him, Nagi. Let him carry out his tasks without worrying that we peer at him as if he were some exotic exhibit." He patted the lad's shoulder clumsily, adding, "It is kind of you to think of him. Let us all simply work together to get back to the city safely."

Nagi nodded, looking out to the horizon and wondering why the air shimmered so, as if there were a pool of water where he knew there could be none. "Are you afraid to go back to New London?" he asked at last. "What if the soldiers catch you?"

"Crawford won't let that happen," said Farfarello firmly. "We can trust his judgement, never fear." He winked at the lad, continuing, "I cannot say I would be pleased at the prospect of being hanged, but at least I can take comfort in knowing it would not _hurt!_ "

"Oh, Farfarello," said Nagi, and looked away. "You are very silly," he went on in a small voice.

"I'm just joking. Besides, you'd scarce miss me, once you had Crawford's company."

"That is not funny!" said Nagi, turning about in outrage. "Aren't we all friends?"

"Yes," said Farfarello, patting his knee. "I shan't tease you about it any more, I'm sorry."

"Please do not," said Nagi with dignity. He scrambled down from the cart and remounted his _dov_ , thinking only then that he had quite failed to enlist Farfarello's aid in cheering Schuldig up. "I hope he is happier by the time we stop," thought Nagi sadly, urging his great mount away from the cart towards Crawford and Schuldig. He paused as Crawford bowed his head and raised a hand to his brow, as if feeling suddenly faint. Schuldig reached out to steady him, and Crawford straightened once more as Micah wheeled his _dov_ back to face him, a look of concern upon his face.

"Nagi, Farfarello!" called Crawford. "Hurry up and join us!"

Nagi at once urged his _dov_ to speed across the short distance, while Farfarello allowed the one drawing the cart to amble on at its preferred speed. "What is it?" he cried in piercing tones, "What is going to happen, Crawford?"

"Not so loud, Nagi, if you please," said Crawford, the smile upon his lips quite taking the sting from his words. "Come, Farfarello. Now," he continued, "We must make all speed to find a place of refuge from which we may fight. We are being tracked and will be attacked by some of the natives very soon."

"Can we not withstand the native weapons?" asked Micah. "They are armed with spears and swords -- no match for modern weaponry!"

"They will have guns," said Crawford grimly. "What our erstwhile friends in Germany would no doubt see as a fine way of eroding British influence on this world will prove to be unpleasant for us, I fear. Let us make haste, the rocks about this place will give us no shelter, any warrior's _dov_ would find them no obstacle."

"They must be from that town we circumvented almost two days ago," said Micah grimly. "How infuriating to find them properly armed this far in the wilderness! Be damned to the profiteering gun-runners that would allow such savages to become more efficient fighters!"

"We have done that ourselves, Crawford and I," murmured Schuldig, clinging tight to Crawford's hand.

"Ah, but that is different!" said Micah with the sunniest of smiles breaking out upon his face. "It is always different when the guns are to be used _against_ one!"

Nagi looked between his older friends in some worry, seeing the lines about Schuldig's eyes and the way in which he and Crawford looked at one another as if they were deep in a silent and fervent conversation. "What is it?" he asked, "What else have you seen will happen, Crawford?"

"Nothing," said Crawford and Schuldig at the same time, a coincidence that did not allay Nagi's suspicions and fears in the slightest.

"I'll off-load the gold," said Farfarello, climbing from his seat and making for the back of the cart. "That will lighten the cart and perhaps satisfy our followers."

"Oh!" cried Nagi, quite diverted from his worry for a moment. The thought of losing the pretty things for which they had worked so hard seemed very unfair to him. "But not my collection of artefacts, Farfarello! Nor," he added quickly, lest the others think him selfish, "Those collected by Crawford either!"

"Better to lose the gold than our heads," said Farfarello. He grinned suddenly at the lad, saying, "We can always steal more!"

"We cannot spare the time!" snapped Schuldig. "Stop this dithering and let us get off, right now!"

"Perhaps word has come of our sacrilege and it is the gold they seek," said Farfarello. "They may wish to return it to its desolate resting place."

"Gentlemen," said Crawford. "We have no time for such discussion. Let us move _now_. I want us to find shelter." Without further word he wheeled his _dov_ about and set a fast pace away from the group.

"Schuldig?" said Farfarello. "Is this --"

Without any reply, Schuldig jerked his _dov_ 's head about and spurred it after Crawford as fast as he might, his lips thin and his face angry.

"What were you going to say?" asked Micah.

"Nothing," said Farfarello shortly. "Let's get going." He leapt back onto his seat and whipped the _dov_ which stood sleepily between the traces. "Move, you stupid beast!" he snarled.

"Come on, lad," said Micah to Nagi, looking after Crawford and Schuldig in worry. "Let's not dally."

Their little group made its way as fast as the _dov_ could scurry across the sandy landscape, heading for some tall rocks that Crawford pointed out. Looking back, Nagi thought he could see sunlight glinting on lance heads or rifle barrels, though he told himself he was being very silly. Then, all at once he saw dust rising behind them, not as far behind them as he wished, as if riders on _dov_ were coming as hard as they might after his friends. "Oh," he thought, unsure to whom his unspoken plea was directed, "Please let us reach the rocks in time!" He drummed his heels on his mount's great scaly sides, an action that did not induce it to hasten its pace until he brought the correct native command to mind. Then his _dov_ seemed to flatten itself and, undulating its body as it rushed forward, sped Nagi along at a pace that seemed to him to suggest that the great beast had been but idling till that moment.

"Farfarello! Farfarello, hurry up!" cried Micah, looking back and stopping his _dov_ , turning it back to face the way they had come. He pulled his rifle from its holster by his saddle and aimed carefully before firing.

Farfarello whipped the _dov_ drawing the cart once more, but it seemed it could not increase its speed any further. The _dov_ on which their long departed guide had ridden, now tethered to the back of the cart, tried on occasion to pass the cart by, pulling it around as it did so. In fury, Farfarello dropped the reins and leapt into the cart, clambering over their securely tied belongings until he could reach the rope by which the second beast was attached. He slashed it through with a knife he drew from his belt and the newly freed _dov_ , unencumbered as it was by a rider, shot forwards, hastening to keep up with its stablemates. Regaining his seat, Farfarello found the cart now easier to drive, and passed Micah by as that gentleman fired once more at the approaching pursuers before himself wheeling about and fleeing for safety. An observer, if one could have been found with as light a frame as those of the natives and their skill at manoeuvring the great winged _ayit_ through the air, might have thought to himself that surely the little group of friends could not hope to win out against those that hunted them, for such an observer - if an observer there had been! - would have noted both the fact that the young men were outnumbered and that, although weeks of necessity had given them skill in the handling of their mounts, they could not exact from their _dov_ the same reactions and obedience that riders trained since infancy in the care of the beasts might expect as their due. Even if the little group of friends reached the rocks for which they made all haste, surely, our putative observer might think, they would waste valuable time in searching out a place wherein to make a stand, and would necessarily examine and reject some hiding places before finding a hole into which they might snugly and securely creep? That observer, however, would quite have reckoned without the uncanny foresight possessed by Crawford, for that young man had seen quite clearly the best of the cracks and crevices that might accommodate them in his vision.

"Quickly, quickly!" cried Crawford, ushering Nagi forward as the lad's _dov_ slid to a halt at the rocks. "Nagi, there is a cave some yards up the face of these rocks. I want you to take the _dov_ up there."

"They can fight!" cried Nagi in excitement. "You remember the attack on the fortress, Crawford, the natives' _dov_ fought as did the warriors!"

"Ours aren't trained for that," said Schuldig quickly, as Crawford's face darkened to be disobeyed at a time of crisis. "We can't risk losing ours in battle against _dov_ that _have_ been trained to fight. Besides," he went on cunningly, "You should not like to see yours wounded, should you?"

Nagi clutched at his mount's harness protectively. "I won't let you be hurt," he said to it and obediently took the reins of the other three that Schuldig held out. "Haah!" he cried out in boyish tones, urging his mount at the sloping rocks, and shrieking with excitement as it scurried straight up, the others willingly following.

"And stay up there with them!" yelled Schuldig. "Make sure they don't come down where they could be hurt!" He favoured Crawford with a weak smile, continuing, "If that does not keep him up there safely I do not know what will!" Then he dashed out to help Farfarello unhitch the beast drawing the cart, taking it and Micah's up to the cave where Nagi was marshalling the _dov_ , telling them to lie down and behave themselves.

"I'll come down now," said Nagi, patting all his great charges a final time.

"No, no," said Schuldig quickly. "You're the only one of us who can keep these brutes up here if they take it into their heads to wander out into the midst of battle! If we don't have them to take us across the desert we'll all die, Nagi. Crawford wants you up here to keep them - and thereby us all - safe."

Nagi looked at him for a moment before saying, "You think I'm a little child and you want me out of the way. Wasn't I helpful at the fort, Schuldig?"

"Yes," said Schuldig. "You were. And you'll be useful here too. If there was room up here or in another hole for the cart, Crawford would have you lift it up and we might be in a better position than we are now. But there isn't, and we must protect our provisions in the only place of shelter big enough for them. Now, be a man and obey orders. Keep the animals up here, and keep them and you safe." He swept Nagi into his arms briefly, muttering, "Don't get killed, do you hear me? Don't." Dropping a quick kiss on the lad's brow he stepped back and leapt from the mouth of the cave, landing lightly on the sands beneath.

With a sigh, Nagi looked about the cave and with a sweeping gesture gathered together all the rocks of varying sizes he could see, forming them quickly into a low wall that gave at least the illusion of a barrier and that might thereby induce the _dov_ to stay peaceably where they were. That he could stop them from leaving Nagi had no doubt, and he was not in the slightest alarmed by the great beasts, being quite unshaken from his childish belief that they were as friendly to him as dogs. More alarming to him by far was his conviction that Schuldig had withheld the whole truth from him and was deeply unhappy and worried, the unguarded feelings emanating from the young mind reader proving to Nagi the depths of his friend's cares. The sharp worry Nagi had felt from Schuldig when he had told him to stay with the _dov_ was underlain with deeper and older fears and love, the likes of which Nagi had felt over the course of their journey when Schuldig was too tired or unwary enough to guard himself effectively. The mind reader was desperately afraid for Crawford, thought Nagi, and here he was, forbidden to come down and help, as if he were a naughty child sent away from adult company. It was impossible to bear, he thought, fretting over what might befall his friends in the midst of battle without his aid. He peered out over his makeshift wall and saw the natives who pursued them quite clearly, fanning out to surround the rocks wherein they had made their hiding places. "This will never do," he muttered. "Crawford will need my help." He sank down against the wall of the cave, fixing the plan of the area in his mind, and thinking with all his might how best he might aid his friends. He screwed his eyes shut, concentrating as the first shots rang out beneath him.

At last Nagi opened his eyes, an unpleasant half-smile playing about his lips. He had, he thought, the perfect idea.


	54. Chapter 54

_The uncharted Martian wastes, 1880_

  
"In there! Quickly!" cried Crawford, indicating a deep and dark crack into which the cart might just fit as Schuldig landed neatly on the balls of his feet beside him. Seizing the cart, Crawford, Micah, Schuldig and Farfarello pushed it as deep within the crevice as they could, and took up positions at the edge of the crack, peering out carefully. Their pursuers came up fast on their great _dov_ , spreading out and circling the rocks, looking all about them with care and intelligence.

"Twenty of them?" said Farfarello quietly, "Or more?"

"I think that is all of them," whispered Schuldig's voice in his mind. "Let us not use speech any more, my friends! There is no need to attract more attention than we must."

"At least their _dov_ do not have their claws armoured for fighting," thought Crawford. "I would not like to think of them digging us out with ease."

Farfarello gave him a sharp and worried look at that, but turned at once again to peering out at the enemy. Micah contributed nothing to the silent conversation, preferring, as it seemed, to watch the Martians as they conferred amongst themselves. They were attired, as were most Martian men seen by the young men, in colourful kilts wrapped about their slender hips, with twin narrow-bladed swords belted about their waists. Most carried the long lances with leaf-bladed heads that the natives who had attacked the garrison fort in New London had borne, and fully half that could easily be seen from the young men's restricted vantage point also carried rifles of what seemed like modern construction. Their _dov_ seemed excited, lashing their great tails and hissing at each other should one of the beasts shoulder its way into another. The Martians who rode them, although it was often difficult for men to tell with any accuracy the age of the natives, seemed to be youthful in the main, their movements and gestures full of the vitality and urgency of the young of all races. They looked about them with their great eyes, speaking loudly as if they scorned to hide their plans from their prey, then the youth who seemed perhaps to be their leader, from his lordly mien and richer clothing and jewellery laughed, his teeth shockingly white in the mahogany colouration of his face, pointing upwards in the native manner, with all his fingers outspread.

"Nagi," muttered Crawford. "Is the little fool looking out, Schuldig?"

"Yes," said Schuldig grimly in his mind, a look of concentration upon his face as if he were looking at two very disparate things at the same time. "I'll teach him to be so silly!" He sighed, rubbing his face. "It is difficult when one does not know their tongue, but I have no doubt they are well aware of our position, Crawford. Perhaps they wish to take Nagi first, for the sake of amusement, or to lessen our _morale_ , or for some other reason I cannot divine." He closed his eyes briefly in an attempt to stop the fancies that made him see Nagi spitted on a native lance, and thought, as strongly and angrily as he might, "Nagi! Stop that and get into cover at once!"

"Oh!" came the immediate thought in reply, "I am doing nothing! I won't let them get me, Schuldig!" The underlying current of thoughts that ran, "Oh, I hope he doesn't realise --" suddenly were cut off with a torrent of exaggerated concern for the safety of the _dov_.

"I am going to strangle him later," thought Schuldig to himself in annoyance at Nagi's silliness. "Behave yourself!" he thought at Nagi and returned to peering out at the Martians. He had scarcely done so when one of the native youths raised his rifle and shot towards the crevice, making the young men within duck and curse.

"Well done, Crawford," hissed Schuldig. "What a wonderful cage you have found for us to hide in!"

"Would you have them steal our water?" said Crawford angrily, adding in thought, "Must you speak so to me at this time?"

"Are we not all friends? May I not speak as I wish, Herr Crawford?" thought Schuldig in annoyance, his anger immediately fading. "I'm sorry," he thought. "It's just I am so damnably worried that this might be what you foresaw." He felt suffused with shame at the smile Crawford sent his way and the thought that accompanied it. "You'd better live out the day," he thought brusquely. Crawford nodded, his eyes on the enemy beyond the crevice's entrance. The Martians rode back and forth, aiming their rifles and shooting when it seemed to them that the opportunity arose.

"I do not think they are all out there," said Micah.

"I believe you are right," said Crawford. "It may be that -- above us!" As he spoke several of the youths urged their _dov_ at the crack, shooting wildly and forcing the young men to shrink back against the walls of the crevice. Crawford looked upwards and, as he had foreseen, after the smallest passage of time there was a scrabbling noise and the great bulk of a _dov_ blocked out the light that shone down through the narrow entrance at the top of the crack. The beast's rider jammed his rifle into the crevice, firing downward and making the bullet ricochet wildly about the narrow passage in the rock.

"Farfarello!" said Micah in alarm, as the bullet scored a path across the young Irishman's arm.

"What's one more scar?" said Farfarello. He regarded the blood seeping into his sleeve with interest. "This will teach me to fight in my shirtsleeves!" he said jokingly. "It's not deep, there's no need to worry." As if to indicate the veracity of his words he lifted his rifle, unheeding of the pain such an action would cause any normal wounded man, and shot out of the crevice, hitting one of the _dov_. "Thank you for having targets large enough for even a one-eyed man to hit!" he called mockingly.

As Farfarello did this, Crawford and Schuldig aimed upwards, firing again and again as the _dov_ scratched at the rocks at the top of the crevice as if it were a large dog hunting out rats. It bellowed as their bullets hit its legs and belly, and all at once it went limp, succumbing to their attacks and sliding down a little into the crack, blocking yet more light from the young men below.

"Did we get the rider?" asked Crawford.

"I don't know," said Schuldig. "At the very least he will not be able to move his _dov_ to shoot down at us!" He directed a worried smile at Crawford, murmuring, "You are bleeding."

Crawford rubbed at his face and looked at the blood on his fingers in surprise. "It's nothing," he said. "A chip of the rock, perhaps -- you know how head wounds always bleed so profusely! I am all right."

"Pray remain so," said Schuldig, creeping nearer to the mouth of the crack.

"Here they come again!" cried Micah, and a barrage of fire was unleashed upon the little group's hiding place. "Damned savages!" said Micah viciously, shooting back and crowing with pleasure as one of the Martian youths tumbled from his mount to lie lifeless in the dust.

"Good shot," said Farfarello in appreciation, then gasped as Crawford jumped forward and bore him down. A bullet cracked through the space until then occupied by Farfarello's head to hit on the rocks beyond. "Thank you, Crawford," said Farfarello in tones of more fervent appreciation than he had used to compliment Micah's skill.

"They're the ones who must die, not us," said Crawford, climbing up again and pulling Farfarello after him. He looked at the mouth of the crevice, where Micah and Schuldig stood side by side as if they had never had words with each other, calmly and skilfully firing and keeping the enemy at bay. He found suddenly that it was Farfarello who held him up rather than he who held Farfarello.

"Brad?" said Farfarello in distress, the familiar manner of his address clearly indicating the worry he felt. " _Schuldig!_ "

" _Gott, Gott,_ " said Schuldig, looking back at them. "Micah! Hold them off!"

"Yes," said Micah grimly.

"Brad!" cried Schuldig, taking Crawford from Farfarello. Anxiously, he slid his hand into his friend's hair, his fingers immediately slick with blood. "Your damned chip of rock has sliced open your head," he said angrily. "For you to be so faint perhaps it has cracked your skull."

"No," said Crawford, shaking his head and finding that such an action was more painful than he had considered. "No. It's a vision, mixed in with the pain. It's Nagi, Schuldig, they're killing him --" He clung to his friend, trying to beat back the horrible images in his mind, for he well knew that to be distracted at this time would prove fatal for them all.

"I can hear him," said Schuldig comfortingly. "Don't think like that, Brad. He is all right." He paused, anger darkening his face. "I think they're going up to his cave. I won't let your vision come to pass, don't worry." Seeing shame within his friend's mind, he touched Crawford's face briefly, saying, "No, I do not think you weak. Do not be so silly!"

"I am all right," said Crawford. "It took me strongly, that is all. The wound is nothing, truly, Schuldig."

"Don't be ashamed of caring for the lad," said Schuldig, reloading his rifle. "Now, I am going out there, and I would very much like some covering fire!" He grinned with a gaiety he did not truly feel, for the images he had seen within Crawford's mind had unsettled him with the horrors inflicted therein upon Nagi's small frame.

"Don't be stupid," said Micah. "The boy can keep them back, don't you think?"

"If he is not distracted, or tricked," said Schuldig. "I am best fitted to go out there, they'll find it hard to hit me if I move as fast as I might!" He froze, alarm suffusing his narrow, scarred face. " _Nein!_ " he said in fury. "Nagi, you little fool --" He paused a moment, saying, "Cover me!" and sprang from the crack out amongst the enemy, shooting one of the Martians in the face as he did so. He looked up the rocks in alarm to see two of the natives on _dov_ clawing their way up to Nagi's place of refuge. "Stay there!" he thought fiercely, but it was too late.

The natives climbing to the cave seemed surprised as rocks shot at great speed out from its mouth, and hung suspended in the air. As Schuldig ejaculated an oath, Nagi's _dov_ sprang out, its eyes fierce as it glared at those beasts ridden by the natives, with Nagi perched upon its unsaddled back. The brute seemed unalarmed by the slow speed with which it descended through the air, lashing its great thick tail in fury and hissing at its foes. The Martians cried out in shock to see the rocks sit motionless in the air as Nagi quickly looked around, marking their positions.

"Hah!" ejaculated the lad, flinging his arms wide in an angry and quick gesture. The rocks shot outwards, thudding into the Martians and their beasts with a force as if they were cannonballs fired by great guns.

" _Jebem ti sunce!_ " cried Schuldig in the manner of the more uncouth of the Serbian rebels with whom Crawford and he had been acquainted, throwing himself to the ground and shielding his head with his arms. All about him were screams, cut off abruptly with horrid thumping noises, and the air was full of dust and sand flung upwards by Nagi's ability. At last Schuldig raised his head to see Nagi sitting quite calmly in the midst of wreckage, his _dov_ looking about it as if it wished for nothing more than to devour the first creature it saw move.

" _Dummkopf_ ," muttered Schuldig, looking then over his shoulder. He froze, seeing the remains of the rocks that had thudded into the mouth of the crevice with a force strong enough to shatter them. He could not hear Crawford's mind, he realised. In panic he leapt up, ignoring his peril as the _dov_ began an angry rush forward, stopped only in its attempts to intercept him when Nagi flung up a hand and it stopped at once as if it had run into a wall.

"Brad!" yelled Schuldig. " _Brad!_ "

His voice sounded very queer in his own ears, he thought, and suddenly the fear lifted from him a little. His head was ringing with the great impact the rocks had made, and he had but been momentarily distracted. Crawford and the others stepped out of the crack, their clothes and hair grey with dust. Schuldig seized his friend tightly.

"I thought --" he began and stopped, not wishing to appear foolish.

"What happened?" said Crawford. "Those rocks -- I barely warned the others to fling themselves down in time."

"Our little friend," said Schuldig, not relinquishing his grasp upon Crawford's arms.

"Don't look so worried," said Crawford. "Though large pieces of rock penetrated the crack, my foresight allowed us all to escape unharmed. Really, Schuldig, I am quite all -- _damn!_ " He pulled away from Schuldig as Micah walked past, his face set in fury. He reached up and pulled Nagi bodily from the back of the _dov_ , and, still holding firmly to the boy's arm, hit him soundly across the face.

"Ah!" cried Nagi.

" _La ihn los!_ " shouted Schuldig in fury as Micah gave every indication that he would hit the surprised boy again. He sprang forward, shoving Crawford aside, and punched Micah on the nose.

"Damn it!" cried Micah, staggering back, his hand over the assaulted facial feature in question. "Get your lapdog under control, Bradley!" He glared at Schuldig's attempts to comfort Nagi, snarling, "You stupid, unnatural creature!"

As quick as a snake striking, Schuldig whipped about and punched him again, a look of vicious pleasure in his face, shrieking, " _Hau ab!_ " Micah returned the favour and within an instant they were rolling over and over on the sand, each young man intent on inflicting as much damage as he possibly could.

"Schuldig!" wailed Nagi, his attention divided between his friend and his _dov_ , for the great beast, still being excited from its recent martial exercise, gave every indication that it would like nothing more than to intervene in the fight to the best of its horribly-clawed abilities.

"Stop this!" roared Crawford, striding forward and pulling them apart. "Stop this ridiculous behaviour at once!" As Micah and Schuldig loudly cried that it was the other that had started it, Crawford stood between them, keeping them both at arm's length. " _He started it_?" quoted Crawford in contempt. "Are you children? Act like men and stop this stupidity!"

" _He_ is a spoilt and immature creature!" cried Micah. "He would not act so if you ever once showed him some discipline, Bradley!"

"Now we see the level you're most comfortable at," snarled Schuldig. "Hitting someone so small! He's nothing but a contemptible bully, Brad!"

" _Stop!_ " shouted Crawford at the top of his lungs, shaking them both. "I'm most gratified to see how you both respect my opinion so much that you must try to persuade me of your complaints," he went on icily, "and I am truly flattered in the way you both continually compete for my affections, like besmitten schoolgirls." He turned away in disgust, saying, "You are both fools."

"He hit me first," said Micah sulkily.

"You heard what he called me," muttered Schuldig.

"You hit Nagi first," said Crawford in annoyance to Micah. "Did you think Schuldig would applaud your actions? And you," he said in anger to Schuldig, "don't even _think_ I am taking your side. I expected more from you." He took a deep breath, calming himself. "We were all agitated," he said, "that is only to be expected in this circumstance. Let us remember that we are not enemies. No more fighting, and really, Schuldig -- are we not _all_ unnatural? And we are the better for it. Now, both of you. I expect that when I come back you shall have apologised and shaken hands, and we shall not indulge in this sort of behaviour again." He turned to Nagi, his face darkening once more. "As for _you_ ," he said as the boy quailed, "come with me."

Nagi obediently and with heavy heart stepped forward, his great reptilian protector shuffling forward too, its eyes set with evil intent firmly on Crawford.

"Farfarello," snapped Crawford as the young Irishman looked between him and Schuldig. "Put that knife away and take hold of this animal!"

"What knife?" said Farfarello innocently as the blade in his hand vanished. He wisely did not meet Crawford's eyes, but simply called the _dov_ with the native commands as Nagi patted it and assured it that he was quite all right.

Seizing Nagi's arm, Crawford walked away till they were out of earshot of the others, before crossing his arms and looking down implacably at Nagi.

"You were told to stay where you were," he said.

"Crawford --" began Nagi, his eyes fixed in worry on his older friend's bloodstained face.

"No excuses. You disobeyed orders."

Nagi looked at his feet in shame. "I wanted to help," he said in a small voice. "I was being useless."

"You were not. You were keeping the _dov_ safe and in one place. That was vital."

"Schuldig thought I should be kept out of danger!" said Nagi looking up once more. "He was worried, I could feel it! And he was worried about you too, Crawford! So was I! And, and you're _hurt!_ " He looked down and wiped his eyes so that he would not weep like a baby, feeling that he had disappointed Crawford and would never regain his regard.

Crawford sighed, feeling his anger drain away. "It's a shallow cut on my scalp, that's all. It looks worse than it is. Nagi, listen to me -- it's true we wanted you safe. It's also true that everyone should do as they're told at times like this. Have I ever led you astray? Well? No. So you should trust me. There isn't always time to explain things fully, but you must trust that I have reasons. We need the animals so that we may cross the desert. We need _you_ for you are someone that Schlo Rosenkreuz will find it difficult to effectively combat. And there's another reason we wanted you out of the fight, as safe as you might be." He put a hand under the boy's chin, lifting the little face up. "We love you," he said. "We could not bear anything to happen to you. No, no, don't cry!" He pulled Nagi into an embrace wondering when the lad had become so dear to him. Love, he thought, was a trap both for those induced by it to serve more loyally and for those to whom the service was offered. "Nagi," he said quietly, holding the shaking boy tight against him, "think how unhappy Schuldig and I would be if you had ended up spitted on one of the natives' spears. You could not cause poor Schuldig such misery, could you? And think what might have happened if, in our worry over you, we had become distracted - don't you think I would be sad if Schuldig had been hurt? Or that Farfarello would mourn or be mourned by us? And Micah, having found me so recently, don't you think he and I would be saddened to lose a brother so soon?"

"Micah doesn't like me," sniffled Nagi against Crawford's coat.

"Yes, he does. He lost his temper -- Nagi, we are all violent men, and all of our tempers were raised. I am sure he regrets hitting you, and that he forgot for a moment that you, unlike us as children, are used to adults dealing with you in more pleasant ways. I want you to forgive him, will you do that?"

"Yes," sighed Nagi.

"Good boy," said Crawford, setting him back a little. "That's the grown up thing to do." He smiled a little, saying, "Although how you are to learn to act like a man when those two act like small boys --"

Nagi looked more cheered, seeing that his chastisement was at an end. "I'm sorry, Crawford," he said. "I just wanted to help you."

"I know," said Crawford. "But in future remember you should do as I say. Come now, let's get back to the others. I want to get this damned cut looked at and cleaned." Taking Nagi's hand more gently than he had seized the boy before, he led him back to the site of the battle.

"You were effective at least," he said, looking about at the carnage.

"Oh," said Nagi in the smallest of voices, for now that the excitement of the moment was over he felt quite sickened by what he saw. All about them lay dead Martians and _dov_ , their bodies horribly beaten and crushed by the assault of the rocks upon their frames. Feeling it would be babyish to hide his face against Crawford, he instead looked firmly at his own shoes.

"Nagi," said a voice beside him, and Nagi looked up to see Micah's sorrowful face. "Nagi," said Micah awkwardly, "I am very sorry to have hit you. I was angry and concerned for my brother, but I should not have done that and I regret it. Will you shake my hand?" So saying he extended his hand, which Nagi willingly took, thinking he would do anything that would gain Crawford's approval.

"Of course," said Nagi, striving not to sound childish. "We all lost our tempers." He told himself it was not grown up in the slightest to be glad that Micah's nose looked very sore.

"Thank you, lad," said Micah, squeezing Nagi's hand. "I truly am sorry, I should not like you to be hurt."

"That's all right," said Nagi, moved to magnanimity as Crawford put an approving hand upon his shoulder. He nodded graciously at Micah's smile.

"I've apologised to Schuldig, brother," said Micah quietly to Crawford, not relinquishing his hold on Nagi's hand. "And I must apologise to you as well. I acted foolishly."

"We were all in a most excited state," said Crawford calmly. "I'm glad we may now act more rationally." Giving Nagi's shoulder a final pat he led Micah away, dropping his voice so that Nagi could only hear, "I am rather tired, Micah, of being caught between you two like this --" Glad to see that he was not to be the only one to be privately chastised by Crawford, and happy indeed that he had not also been shouted at before all the others, Nagi turned about in search of something of interest. He was not long in finding it.

"Hey!" cried Farfarello, who was amusing himself amongst the bodies of their fallen enemies. "This one is alive!"

At once everyone congregated at the spot where Farfarello stood, looking down at the young Martian. His legs were trapped beneath a rock, and it was clear to see that with every breath he took he struggled not to give voice to the pain he undoubtedly felt. He watched them silently as, whistling cheerfully, Farfarello took his knife and knelt, pulling the youth's head back.

"Wait," said Micah hurriedly. "Bradley, don't you speak the native tongue? Perhaps we can get intelligence from him as to whether we might expect more pursuit."

"I can speak but a little modern Martian, and of the dialect favoured by the natives in the region of New London at that," said Crawford. "Nonetheless, we must ask."

"I think he'll probably need persuasion," said Farfarello in a dreamy tone. "Nagi, move this rock, for who wants to work in the full rays of the sun?"

Nagi obliged, and once his broken and crushed legs were freed, the youth was quickly and ungently moved to the shade of the rocks. Crawford spoke to him, slowly and carefully, but received no reply. After the third question he waved Farfarello forward.

"Six fingers seem a little much, don't you think?" said Farfarello gaily, kneeling on the youth's arm to stop him squirming.

The young Martian bit back a cry of pain and spat at them as they laughed.

"The natives understand _knives_ , Farfarello," said Micah. "Give him something a little different and perhaps we'll hear him jabber!" Turning the youth's head with a foot so he had no choice but to watch, Micah smiled pleasantly as flames suddenly danced about his hands. Nagi felt aggrieved as Micah moved and knelt by the youth, for he could not see what was happening. Then, as the young man screamed and screamed, he was all of a sudden glad that his view was blocked. "So you've a tongue in your head after all, you damned son of a bitch," said Micah in ugly laughing tones. "Answer when your betters ask you a question!"

"Nagi," said Schuldig, slipping an arm about the boy's shoulders. "Come on, come with me."

"But I want to see," said Nagi in a faint voice.

"No you don't. Come on."

Nagi let himself be led away, telling himself he was merely humouring Schuldig. He was very glad when they went around to the other side of the rocks and sat down. After some minutes of silence he looked up and put a careful finger up to Schuldig's bruised face, seeing how his friend's eye was blacked.

"Ah!" ejaculated Schuldig mildly, jerking a little as the tender flesh was touched. "Careful, there!"

"I'm sorry," said Nagi, feeling that he was to blame for such wounds upon his friend's face.

"Don't be," grinned Schuldig. "I found that quite satisfying. You needn't fear that I will, as Farfarello might say, give out to you." He stole Nagi's hat and ruffled the lad's hair. "We are as friendly again as we ever were, Micah and I," he said merrily, smiling evilly at how Nagi took such a statement.

"The others will think I'm a baby for letting you take me away like this," muttered Nagi, wishing both that he had not accompanied Schuldig and that his friend had taken him even further away.

"So? Don't be in such a hurry to grow up, _mein Herz_. There was nothing pretty back there." As Schuldig spoke they heard the most desolate and despairing cry, faintly from beyond the rocks. Nagi felt ill and was most grateful to be held. "Why don't we get things ready for this evening?" said Schuldig in a determinedly normal voice. "That will keep our minds off unpleasant matters."

"Yes," murmured Nagi, clinging on tightly. Then, "Schuldig? Have you ever thought whether it is wrong to kill people?"

"What funny ideas you have," said Schuldig. "It's not wrong when they are attempting to kill one, that's for sure. In all honesty, Nagi, it's not a topic I can ever remember having given thought to. That Martian - he was trying to kill us, he failed, we won and he must bear the consequences. That is all. Come along, we'll put up the tents and start dinner." Nagi went with him willingly, hoping that Schuldig would not propose cooking meat. The young German smiled at him brilliantly, and flung an arm about him. "Do not ever change," laughed Schuldig. "Never. And stop worrying that you shall not be able to sleep tonight. I will put you to sleep and you shall have peaceful slumber. Crawford and I will wish to engage in conversation and we won't want you distracting us!"

"Are you going to talk about me?" said Nagi suspiciously.

"If we do," said Schuldig innocently, "we shall say only good things." Saying no more he merrily chased Nagi about for a little until the lad's mind was full only of good cheer and friendship, and he had no room in his thoughts any more for glum wonderings and gladly helped the young mind reader with the preparations for the evening, having no more doubts or misgivings about the events of the day.

* * * * * *

A sampling of Schuldig's show of modern languages, much of it too filthy for maidenly girlish eyes to read in translation:  
 _Jebem ti sunce!_ "Fuck the sun!" (Serbian)  
 _La ihn los!_ "Let him go!"  
 _Hau ab!_ "Fuck off!"


	55. Chapter 55

_The desert, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
"We cannot be more than a fortnight away from the city," said Farfarello, idly drawing the tip of his knife down his forearm and admiring the thin track of blood that followed the bright metal's progress. "How pleasant it will be to have enough water!"

"Are you thinking of drowning a priest?" asked Schuldig, wincing a little.

Farfarello looked at him as if he had never before considered Schuldig to be so intelligent. "It's something I haven't tried," he said, clearly considering the best way to go about such a murder. "In the font," he murmured to himself, "or one of the canals? I must think further on this."

"Must you give him ideas?" grumbled Crawford in what was clear to Nagi as a good humour.

"I grow tired of the blood," explained Schuldig with a wicked smile. "Think how diverting it will be to see priests laden down with rocks, lying pale and bloated beneath the still surface of the canals!" He favoured Farfarello with a serious and intelligent look, continuing, "There would not be enough room in the average font for you to be properly artistic."

"I suppose not," said Farfarello. "Thank you, Schuldig, for such consideration."

Nagi joined in the general laughter, seeing then how Micah stared into the little fire glumly. The young American had, over the course of the previous days, become more and more withdrawn until Nagi could feel scarcely anything from him, as he had been when first he had encountered the band of friends. Nagi was sure it was disgracefully childish for him still to be sulking over the fight with Schuldig, for the bruises on both their faces had faded.

"Two weeks," muttered Micah. "How close it seems."

"Don't be afraid," said Nagi quietly, feeling sudden sympathy for the man. "Crawford won't let them catch us."

Micah looked at him silently for a moment before smiling, his usual bright and sunny smile lightening his humour. "I'm not afraid," he said cheerfully, patting Nagi's hair. "Why, of all of you I have the least reason to fear, for no one suspects me of the butchery you inflicted on the city and its soldiers!"

"That's true," said Crawford, putting aside with a grimace the remains of the food he had himself prepared for their evening meal. "No doubt the etherflyer stewards on all lines will have been instructed to report us should we attempt to use our tickets back to Earth. You can be of great use in buying us new passage, Micah."

"First class," said Schuldig quickly. "We can afford it, Crawford."

"That would attract undue attention, don't you think?" said Micah politely, looking back into the flames, morose once more. "If I were to buy so many first class tickets with native gold? We should rather appear to be unassuming passengers of lower degree."

"Pah!" ejaculated Schuldig, stretching himself out comfortably. "A journey should be comfortable! Crawford and I will want some pleasures on the trip back - but by all, means, Micah, if you feel that _you_ belong in steerage, do not let me sway you! You may," he said with a cruel twist to his mouth, "feel more at home there, after all."

"Schuldig!" snapped Crawford as Micah looked up from the fire.

"And why," said Micah quietly, "should I feel so?"

"You'd no doubt feel awkward being with those the rest of society would consider to be your betters," said Schuldig with a casual air, ignoring Crawford's angry look.

"You too would consider them so, I see," said Micah, throwing a piece of thorn into the fire.

"Some I would consider better than you, yes," said Schuldig, his eyes glittering with malice and pleasure.

"Stop it, Schuldig," said Crawford. "This is unworthy of you."

"Unworthy?" said Micah. "Surely that sums him up. Unworthy and unmanly. Look how he plays with his feminine tresses."

"Don't think my hair makes me a girl," snapped Schuldig, sitting bolt upright, mean pleasure in his face at his success in provoking the other to irritation.

"He's such a vain and prettified creature," said Micah to Crawford. "Does he ask you to brush that hair for him?"

"Micah, please," said Crawford wearily. "Let's not have fighting again."

"It is not I who wishes to fight," said Micah bitterly. " _That_ lies at the door of your pretty little companion. Why not learn to act the man, Schuldig?"

"I already do," said Schuldig. "It is not my fault you are so close-minded that you think manliness connected so strongly with short hair. Ask Farfarello here about Bible stories, you'll find he can give you other opinions."

"At least you're hardly in danger of temptresses who will beguile you with their charms and their shears," said Farfarello with the smallest of smiles, winking at Nagi.

"That is certainly true," said Micah before Schuldig could answer. "Nothing natural could appeal to this fey, vicious creature. Bradley," he went on, "When we are back in civilisation you should insist he curb his theatrical inclinations - he is altogether too memorable and should have long since been brought to heel."

"Must _we_ judge by outward show, as does the world? Bah! I am done with the pair of you," said Crawford, throwing the last remnants of their dinner towards the _dov_ , who regarded it with more reluctant reticence than the young men had shown when confronted with it earlier. "Nagi, leave that alone," he said, as the lad started to make the scraps float within reach of his mount. "If they'd rather hunt, let them."

"I should curb myself," said Schuldig wonderingly. "Why, never before had such a thought occurred to anyone around me! Thank you, Micah! For you, I shall forgo my favoured appearance and deny my own nature. You must help me should I falter, for it shall no doubt be a difficult task. The leopard cannot change its spots, after all, no matter how society judges it therefore, nor - as you well know - the Ethiopian his skin." He looked at Micah with a practiced eye, murmuring, "Although perhaps a little preparation of white lead might make your complexion more unnoticeable to civilised eyes."

"Any man who makes his judgement of others based on the colour of their skin is a fool, and --" started Micah with fury.

"Micah!" cried Schuldig in mock surprise. "When did I mention anything on my opinion of the colouration of anyone's complexion? Truly, you have taken me up wrongly. It makes no difference to me whether you are as dark as one of the natives of this savage world or as fair as a Nordic maiden who does not see the sun for half the year." He smiled with great delicacy, continuing, "Let your face even be green or striped -- I should not like you in any case whatsoever."

"Be damned to you," said Micah hotly, his eyes angry.

"Oh, be quiet and get us more coffee like a good boy," said Schuldig, his words being suddenly drowned out by Farfarello.

"I am feeling quite left out," said Farfarello. "Why, I put so much effort into changing my appearance and yet I haven't been mocked once this evening by either of you! What is a man supposed to do to attract notice, I wonder? Come now, perhaps you can laugh at my scars or my lack of an eye. Come to that," he said, patting Nagi's arm to show the boy he was not serious, "You could tease Nagi for the shape of _his_ eyes, or their colour. Or perhaps his skin might attract your amusement - or mine, it never seems to darken much in this sun, after all. Or maybe you could poke fun at Crawford's spectacles for a while. Aren't we also your friends? And yet you don't insult us!"

"All right, all right," muttered Schuldig. "I'll say no more. It's a stupid argument, anyway. I have no wish to _darken_ my mood further." He fell silent, glaring at the sand as Micah sprang to his feet and stalked away.

"Micah!" said Crawford, following him after a quelling look in Schuldig's direction. "Micah, do not be angry."

"Angry," echoed Micah bitterly. "Why should I be? I have heard much worse."

"Schuldig is being silly," said Crawford. "He loves to find something to annoy people with, you've seen that. He does not mean it as a serious insult."

"Yes, he does," sighed Micah. "Don't take his part in this, brother. Please. He should not say such things to me."

"Well, he was responding to your gibes at him," said Crawford, trying to lighten the other's mood.

"That was different," said Micah. "He can cut his hair and not act in so flamboyant a manner, and no man would look at him askance. He does not have to endure people looking at him as I have in my life. I did not think to hear such things from friends." He looked away from Crawford, saying, "Poor little Nagi. Do you think he likes to hear such things? Do you think he doesn't apply them to his own situation?"

"Nagi knows Schuldig loves him," said Crawford reassuringly.

"Yes. _Despite_ his skin," said Micah, shaking his head. "Well, perhaps he does not feel it. I'm not angry, Bradley. I just --" He paused, looking unhappy. "When a boy said such a thing to me in Germany," he said at last, "the instructors laughed at me as a fool for taking it. So I broke that boy's arm and none of the students ever spoke to me except as an equal again. If we, seen as spoil to be rejected, could see past the accidents of birth then one trained in the Schlo itself should do so all the more easily." Stooping to snatch up a stone he flung his prize hard and fast from him, the misery in his face touching Crawford greatly.

"Micah," said Crawford, and seized the other's hand in his. He smiled, holding up their joined hands before Micah's face. "Look how dark I have become in the harsh sun of this world. Why, if you had not also darkened in the sun's rays I believe I might be darker than you at this point. These things are foolishnesses in which the world indulges, brother. They should not concern _us_." He embraced Micah, murmuring, "And have you not used it to your advantage, letting fools blind themselves to what you are so that you might carry out your tasks with ease?"

"Yes," said Micah. "But a man grows weary, Bradley. For so long I simply wanted them to look at me and to see a man. That's all."

"I look at you and see a man who is very obviously my family," said Crawford, ignoring the whisper of sardonic laughter in his mind from Schuldig.

"You wouldn't have said so in Virginia."

"We're not in Virginia - and I would have been overjoyed to consider you my brother when I was a boy," said Crawford.

"Not as a man," said Micah, wiping at his eyes.

"I am a man," said Crawford simply. "And I am overjoyed."

Micah wiped his eyes once more, blinking rapidly. "This damned dust," he said brokenly, "it insinuates itself everywhere. Oh, Bradley, I was so glad to have found you once more. I should not like you to doubt that. These last weeks --" he gestured helplessly, continuing, "I an so glad to have had them with you. Truly, even with Schuldig's animosity. Let me be honest with you, brother, I feel some slight jealousy of your affection for him."

"Really?" said Crawford dryly.

Micah laughed ruefully. "Well, perhaps more than a little," he admitted. "He and I, we started our acquaintanceship on, as it were, the wrong foot -- perhaps we could never learn to love one another, but there is no point in our indulging ourselves in silliness any more. I know that, brother, and I shall do my utmost to act as a man around him." He looked out across the desolate sands with a melancholic air. "I should have liked to go to India with you, and to see my friend once more," he said quietly, then shook his head, seeming to pull himself together. "Two weeks to the city. We should think more on how we shall escape capture. I am still fully of the opinion that we should not buy first class tickets and should attempt to avoid as much attention as we may."

"You are quite right," said Crawford. "First class is too memorable by far, I agree completely. We'll travel second class. None of us shall travel steerage - why should we? As you say you are not under any suspicion in the city, and we shall explain Nagi in some way - if you and he travel together they shall see only two who are not European."

"Is that your opinion," said Micah, "or your foresight? And shall Schuldig allow such a thing?" he went on with a laugh that seemed more sad than bitter.

Crawford quirked a smile at him, saying, "People see what they wish to, don't you find? It will be easy enough, I should think. As for Schuldig, let me speak to him. He is proud and will not allow himself to back down of his own accord once he has spoken in anger. He will accede to requests from me, however, I am sure." He forbore to say that he had had no vision of them leaving the planet, nor any sight of the future that might lie past that now familiar melancholy sensation of loneliness and sorrow. "Come," he said, "Let us return to our friends." So saying he led Micah back to the little fire, where both of them accepted the coffee Nagi silently held out.

"Well now," said Schuldig's voice in Crawford's mind. "That was so terribly moving, Crawford. Do you think he is truly unhappy about such gibes or is it but a convenient excuse for him to express offence with me?"

"You don't know what America was like," replied Crawford in like manner. "Find another way to annoy him, Schuldig, please."

"You ask so prettily," said Schuldig in the queer silent communication he so often employed. "Very well, you know I can deny you nothing -- come now, what do you mean, 'If that were only true'? Moreover," thought Schuldig, ostentatiously winding a lock of his hair about his finger, "you well know I have never considered Nagi's race something of comment. If he has had such thoughts put in his head it is not by _me_ , I assure you."

"Nonetheless," thought Crawford, "modulate such statements."

Schuldig held up his hands in surrender. " _Jawohl_ , Herr Crawford," he said aloud with his most charming smile. "Nagi! Come and read to me, _mein Herz_."

"But we've finished all the books we have," said Nagi.

"Then I shall write something for you," said Schuldig. " _Auf Deutsch_. No, don't look so glum, you must practice reading in German too! You're a good, clever boy. It should be no hardship to you."

"Will you write a story about Crawford when he was a boy?" said Nagi hopefully.

"Could mere paper hold such exploits?" laughed Schuldig gaily, sweeping his gaze round to include the others in the jest. "Why, I was but a little fellow, Nagi, smaller than you, when the esteemed Herr Crawford was a student at the Schlo. And the first thing little fellows learnt, those who possessed even a modicum of sense at least, was to stay well out of sight of the big boys. I cannot say I remember Crawford at all as a boy, my first clear memory of him," he said with a gay laugh, "was when he hit me in disappointment for not being another lad, and then dragged me to Egypt."

"You must have been very meek as a child," said Crawford, helping himself to another cup of coffee. "For you did not come to my attention at all in the Schlo." He grinned at Micah, continuing, "If one might imagine Schuldig ever being meek!"

"Ah," said Schuldig in mock seriousness, "how can you say such a thing after stating your views that one should not judge by appearances! Your bad memory has a simple explanation, Crawford. You oracles and starters of fire and - well, whatever you might be, Farfarello - your childhoods were smooth and easy, I have no doubt. Strong mind readers, so the doctors assured me, have in the main a more turbulent time as their bodies mature. I saw the inside of the sanatorium more often than I would have wished, and never because of fights with other students or accidents in the course of my training. I didn't know it was due to your influence, Crawford, and in fact never realised you were the cause until I had known you for some time as a man, but all I can say with certainty that I remember of you from the Schlo is your war. I was in the sanatorium when they started bringing the wounded in." He smiled at Nagi's eager face. "That was impressive. So much bloodshed, caused by children so young! Just think, he has improved since then! We shall be back on Earth and free before we scarce have time to blink."

  


* * *

  
 _Schlo Rosenkreuz, 1870_

  
"You have become boring, Crawford," said Scherer, keeping his voice light so that it might be obvious he but jested.

"Have I?" said Crawford, noting his second-in-command was sensible enough to say such a thing only when they were unobserved and alone, lest other boys think he was aiming to take Crawford's place. "How so, Franz?"

"You think of your classes, you think of the problems set by the instructors, you think always of how you may better yourself in the service of our people," said Scherer. "Not once have I found you thinking about what we might do now that we have the girls."

"They are our allies," said Crawford mildly.

"So let us use them!"

Crawford laughed shortly at his lieutenant's tone and laid a reproving hand upon the other boy's shoulder. "Franz, Franz," he said chidingly. "How impatient you are! We shall reap the rewards of this soon enough. Don't you think we should at least wait and enjoy the respect of those others who see that our strengths have increased while theirs have not?"

"Respect?" said Scherer angrily. "They plan to take you down - to take us all down, Crawford."

"I know," said Crawford, a small grin on his lips. "There will, in fact, be a concentrated attack on us tomorrow."

"What?" said Scherer. "And you said nothing to me? Crawford, we have planned no tactics, no traps --"

" _I_ have planned," said Crawford.

"You haven't been thinking about this at all!" said Scherer hotly.

Crawford glared at him, wondering if he would have to beat the other boy to remind him of the need to stay loyal. Relenting then, for he saw true worry in the face of the other, he said, "I've had to be careful. A man cannot guard his thoughts every moment of the day and it would be sheerest insanity to run the risk of allowing an enemy to divine our purposes. We must also consider the way in which the instructors would see plans of the nature needed to deal with this threat. People will die, Franz. Nothing less will make them all bow down to us. I have done my planning in the future."

"What the devil do you mean by that?" said Scherer. "You can see it, not take actions in it!"

"That's true," said Crawford. "It is more that I have been allowing myself to see as many of the possible outcomes as I can imagine, and following them to their ends. Often several reveal themselves to me at the same time." He smiled ruefully at the other boy, saying, "It gives one the very devil of a headache! However, such confusion is not easy for a mind reader to tease out - or you would already have done so!"

"Headaches," muttered Scherer. "I get one whenever I stay in your mind too long if you are in an oracular frame of mind. And what do you mean," he continued, "You think they shall all submit? How can you be serious in such a statement?"

"I am quite serious," said Crawford. "Every boy in the Schlo will acknowledge me as their chief."

"Why?" said Scherer, "Why set yourself such a goal?"

"I want to do great things," said Crawford. "I want to carry out the tasks for which I have been trained, I want to force the world into the mould I see fit. I have no intention of being some older man's apprentice while I wither and age, to be given at last underlings of my own! No," he said firmly. "I shall lead my own team when I have attained my majority, I shall not wait for year upon year."

"You think they'll give you a team when you are but twenty-one?" said Scherer. "Have you seen such an unprecedented thing in a vision?"

"No," admitted Crawford. "But I shall and soon. When the instructors see what a leader I can be there shall be no more impediments. This, Franz, will catch their attention in a way they cannot pretend to ignore."

"They'll kill you," warned Scherer.

"Not if I am successful," said Crawford. "You know that success may win a rewriting of the rules. I shall triumph, and so will all those that stand with me, Franz. No one shall forget us, not for year upon year."

Scherer looked at him in silence and then shrugged. "I'll be by your side," he said.

"Of course," said Crawford mockingly. "Where else would your love take you?"

"Where else would I go?" muttered Scherer. "You haven't led me wrong since we were but twelve years old." He looked aside as if embarrassed. "When you are the youngest man to be given a team of agents you shall need a mind reader - you won't ask for someone other than me, will you?"

Crawford shrugged. "By that time we shall both have been assigned tasks, Franz. You may no longer wish to be under me." Relenting at the expression on the other's face he said, "If you are not engaged in work of your own, I shall by all means ask for you, and we can become famous together. That is a hope for fame, not a prediction, mind you - I cannot see so far."

"It's good enough for me," said Scherer. "Now, to things that you _can_ see -- what of this attack?"

"Tomorrow, after lunch," said Crawford quietly. "While we are allowed free exercise time, Giordano and Koltsov's boys will join forces against us - they will draw in some other boys who want to defect to them."

"None of ours!" said Scherer hotly. "They all worship you, Crawford."

"Well, let us hope I can get them off their knees long enough to fight," laughed Crawford. "Don't worry, Franz - neither Giordano nor Koltsov trust each other. They don't like our strength since Andersson came to us, but they won't fight as well as we shall. And they'll discount the girls' strength to their own detriment."

"Perhaps they are right to," muttered Scherer. "Are you so sure the girls will fight for us? Can they even fight properly? It's foolishness to depend on _girls_ , Crawford! They're not proper allies, that's what other boys think!"

"Then the other boys are even more stupid than I believed," said Crawford. "To judge someone's worth on whether the person is male or female! It's what one can _do_ , that's what's important, not what one looks like!"

"Well, if you say so," grumbled Scherer. "How are you to get them to come to our courtyard?"

"They came when they wanted something, did they not?" said Crawford. "Let them prove themselves allies, or I'll take it out of Andersson's hide myself. I want you to contact them, tell them to come when called."

"Andersson and her best girls are trained to erect defences about their minds," said Scherer. "They keep them as strong as they might at all times, to deflect the attentions of mind readers." He coloured slightly at Crawford's amused glance, adding, "Some foolish boys have too much liberty for silliness. I should be able to force my way into one of the little girls' minds."

"Do so," said Crawford, reaching out to steady the other boy as he closed his eyes and frowned in concentration. "Is it so difficult to reach past their walls and locks?" he said as Scherer swayed, his face going white.

"Stop distracting me!" snapped Scherer. "Fraulein Jensen almost caught me! If you want someone to blast their way through all defences without effort or forethought, find something without its name left to it!" He fell silent, propped against Crawford's shoulder, breathing heavily. "There," he said in satisfaction. "One child gone running to the bigger girls, her mind full of warnings and orders."

"Good," murmured Crawford, pushing his lieutenant gently back to stand unsupported. "Let us go and find the rest of our lads, Franz. I don't want anyone caught by surprise tomorrow."

  


* * *

  
"I believe the kitchens have outdone themselves in their hatred of humanity this day," said Herr Dorfmann, prodding at his fish with distaste. "How they expect us to eat such swill I do not know. We should kill one of the cooks as a warning to the others." He pushed his plate back and glared in disinterested animosity at the faded tapestries that hung upon the walls. "The soup was foul too. We have been fed potato soup three times this week already."

"Root vegetables keep, Dorfmann," said Fraulein Albrecht in a bored tone. "Do you expect the kitchens to provide us with fresh produce so far out of season?" She finished her fish and smiled at him with gentle malice. "I hope you like elderly mutton, for that is what the meat course shall consist of."

"Damn," muttered Herr Dorfmann. "Have they confused our food with that of the students? We are not all blessed with your constitution, Albrecht." Fraulein Albrecht said nothing, merely taking up her glass in one thin hand as the silent maid removed her plate and, with some hesitation, took Herr Dorfmann's untouched fish from the table. "Yes, take it, take it, girl!" he snapped. "And bring me more bread! That is at least something the fools in the kitchens can scarce damage." He rose from his seat and stared moodily out into the courtyard as the meat was brought in. Below him, boys congregated and moved with varying degrees of stealth about the yard, the smaller of them secreting themselves in corners and doorways.

"You shall become ill if you do not eat properly, Dorfmann," said the man at the head of the table. "Come, seat yourself. There are plenty of condiments to disguise the taste of the meat if you truly cannot stomach it." He raised an eyebrow as Herr Dorfmann stayed where he was, peering out of the window. "Dorfmann."

"My apologies, sir," said Herr Dorfmann, turning about quickly and sitting down once more.

"Is there something of which we should be aware, Dorfmann?"

"We endure childish stupidity enough hours of the day," said Herr Dorfmann in mild tones. "Let us be free of it while we eat!"

"Good," said the man, and watched until Herr Dorfmann had taken up a forkful of the grey and unappealing meat. Conversation was subdued thereafter, restricted to requests for the salt and pepper to be passed, or for the servants to bring more mint jelly, branching out into discussions of the weather and some desultory talk of the great political matters of the day. The bread and butter pudding had not yet been brought in when every one of the instructors paused suddenly, looking at each other in consternation.

"What," said Herr Blumenthal, his spectacles still in one hand as he stopped polishing them, "was that?"

"Are _all_ the students together?" said Herr Dorfmann, putting one hand to his temple as if a sudden headache assailed him.

"The girls!" exclaimed Fraulein Jensen, standing abruptly and hurrying away from the bemused Herr Zahn who had been holding forth to her on harmonic scales. She rushed to the windows and stared down into the main courtyard. "The girls are in the boys' courtyard!"

"So much for our careful regulation of the programme," muttered Fraulein Albrecht in annoyance. "We must try to quiz the boys on their involvement afterwards. Some of them would provide useless offspring."

"It's _all_ the girls!" cried Fraulein Jensen, clasping her hands to her bosom. "They're fighting! _All_ the students are fighting!"

All the instructors jumped to their feet and hurried over to join her, staring down in consternation.

"We should have felt it before now," said Herr Blumenthal. "Shouldn't we?"

"Look there," said Dorfmann in fury, pointing to children huddled in knots about the fighting, their eyes closed and expressions of utmost concentration upon their faces. "The little fools have the mind readers on all sides blocking us! Wait till I get my hands on the ringleaders! None of them will be able to sit down for a week!"

His angry outburst died away as the man from the head of the table leaned forward, his gaze intent. "Fascinating," he said. "They are all so fixed on finishing this matter without interference from us. What prize is worth so much?" His eyes followed a tall, dark-haired boy as the lad shattered an enemy's nose with a powerful punch, following this assault with a flat-handed blow upwards against the site of the previous injury. "You _have_ proved yourself interesting," he murmured as the boy laughed scornfully at another lad who ran up, sabre in hand. "My friends," he said, "it would seem we have a contest for the throne on our hands. Young Herr Crawford does not seem overly distressed to face Koltsov's weapon unarmed -- Americans are so brashly self-confident, don't you think?" He looked towards the door. "Birgitta, where are you going?"

"The _girls!_ " cried Fraulein Jensen, ceasing her agitated exit from the room. "Sir, we must --"

"They seem to be holding their own," he said, looking out the window once again. "Crawford's boys are actually fighting alongside them as equals with no insubordination. Our young friend must have a strong will indeed! Ah -- I'm sorry, Birgitta, Andersson has fallen into the hands of Giordano's lieutenants."

With a little cry, Fraulein Jensen ran to the window, pushing Herr Blumenthal aside. Below them she saw a struggling fair haired girl go down under the weight of her opponents. To her right, the tall girl with light brown hair cut the boy facing her across the chest with a wickedly sharp long knife, then, with a cry of rage that reached faintly to the instructors' ears, stamped down her foot and flung out an arm towards the boys that tore at the other maiden. A torrent of flame knocked them aside to roll, screaming in pain, on the cobblestones of the courtyard as the tall girl and one of Crawford's boys pulled the fair haired girl to safety.

"I believe we have seen enough," said the man pleasantly. "The tide cannot be turned back, and look! Undecided lads are joining Crawford's side. Enough damage has been done for one day - we should go down there before he kills Koltsov for refusing to yield. Come along!"

Down in the courtyard, Crawford risked a glance up at the windows to see the instructors, no longer frozen in surprise, hurrying down the length of their dining hall to reach the corridor where they might find the nearest staircase. "I was lucky to have this much time," he thought, and avoiding Koltsov's sabre with ease, swept the other boy's feet from under him. "Stay down!" he cried, leaping up to avoid the desperate slash the supine boy would aim at his ankles. "You're beaten and you know it!"

" _Niet!_ " screamed Koltsov, trying to roll to one side and regain his feet. Crawford stopped his attempt for freedom by means of a vicious kick to his chest, setting then his foot firmly upon the whimpering boy's throat.

"Do you think," he said in a bored voice, "that I cannot kill you before the instructors reach us? Annoy me further, and I'll risk their ire." He trod down, smiling faintly to see the Russian lad gasp for breath and claw futilely at his heavy boot.

"Please," gasped the other lad, "please." As Crawford lifted his foot a little, he lay back, shaking. "Damn you, Crawford," he rasped hoarsely. "I submit."

"All of you!" roared Crawford, snatching up his fallen enemy's weapon. "Yield! Bow your damned heads, you bastards! Is any of you fool enough to challenge me? Stand forth!"

"You've won," said Scherer, coming up to him. "Koltsov's humiliated, Giordano's dead - one of his own boys took him down." He smiled ferally, throwing an arm about Crawford's shoulders. "You're victorious, Brad!"

"Yes," said Crawford exultantly, enough still of the boy remaining in him to allow familiarity at such a time. He looked about as boy after boy bent their head to him, some willing, some unwilling, but all obedient. He breathed deeply, savouring his triumph. "Andersson," he called to where the leader of the girls stood in the protective embrace of her lieutenant, the tall English girl. "You girls keep your backs straight, you're allies, not conquered enemies." Raising his voice he cried, "And until I'm gone from the Schlo you girls walk where you will. Do you hear me, all you boys? The girls go where they want without hindrance, you hear?" He nodded in satisfaction as no one raised an objection and the girls smiled, sharing in his victory. "We won't be forgotten, Franz," he said. "This is the start of things for us."

"We'll have whippings to get through first," said Scherer as the instructors flung open the door to the courtyard and poured through, fury in their faces. The combatants, reduced to fearful children once more, quailed before their wrath.

"Oh, we'll all be whipped," said Crawford cheerfully. "But we've _won_ and that's what counts. They've taught us that enough, haven't they? They can hardly blame us for taking their lessons to heart." He laughed in purest pleasure. "I hope they like the means I have employed to garner their full attention," he said, "for I think that the future end shall quite be worth it."


	56. Chapter 56

_The desert, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
Micah rode out ahead of the others, scanning the horizon for signs that the natives of the area might seek to hunt the little party of young men. Taking this position by Crawford's request some days previously, he had never since relinquished it, even when offered the chance to fall back and converse with the others. Schuldig proclaimed this to be stand-offishness when he and Crawford were alone, but Crawford felt it was rather a devotion to duty, regrettably as he felt, mixed with a disinclination to allow another Micah felt too light-minded to assume the _rle_. Some five nights since they had carried out a raid on one of the rare and heavily guarded wells. Wishing to remain as inconspicuous as possible the guards had not been slain, but rendered unconscious while the precious liquid was lifted in container after container from the deep well by Nagi. Schuldig, although he complained that he could hardly be expected to perform to the best of his capacity on the strange and inhuman minds of the natives, had implanted within the guards' minds the suggestion that they had fallen foul of bad food as an explanation for their dereliction of duty. Then with all haste the friends had fled into the desert once more, their casks of water replenished with, as they most fervently hoped, enough of that liquor most needful for all life to enable them to reach the cultivatable land once more. No signs of riders on _dov_ could be discerned in the hot and shimmering landscape that gleamed at the horizons as if vast oceans were perpetually just out of sight. Nor did any _ayit_ soar overhead bearing riders to carry tales of the friends' presence. It was as if they and their beasts were the only living things in the whole vast and still world.

When they broke at the hottest part of the day, sheltering from the fury of the sun under a quickly erected canvas, Crawford looked about him with what satisfaction he could muster. He had led his friends so far, he thought. While they had not followed without questions this did not alarm him in the slightest. Only the most foolish of men, he thought, followed blindly. Rational men sought to verify what they were told, or if they accepted statements on faith it was because those who spoke had shown their good sense and intelligence consistently heretofore. He would lead them further, he vowed, and if he himself were not to live to see their success he would do all within his power to ensure that they would live free after him. Schuldig looked at him sorrowfully, but said nothing, for which Crawford was very glad. He did not think it in any way useful to make dramatic statements about the miseries of one friend surviving another, still less the idiocy that had caused him to laugh aloud on first seeing the Bard of Avon's great tragedy, that of willingly following one's friend into death, as if a broken heart could not be endured. He was very glad that Schuldig was not so silly. Schuldig gave him a smile quite unconvincing in its gaiety, his voice murmuring within his friend's mind, "Don't worry! I shouldn't be so wet! If you were to die - which you shall not, for I shall not allow it - my time will be taken up with the destruction of those who kill you and all they hold dear, not with weeping and doing away with myself." Having thus reassured Crawford, Schuldig finished the small meal that was all any of them could force themselves to consume in such heat and, pillowing his head on his friend's thigh, fell fast asleep.

"Are we really only a week from New London?" asked Micah. "It seems so barren still."

"We have possibly a week and a half still to travel," said Crawford. "Our water will hold out, and once we reach the canals we may make ourselves more presentable, so as not to excite suspicion from the people."

Micah nodded, making no reply. When the time came for them to journey on he took the foremost position once more, scanning the horizon uneasily.

"Have you seen trouble for us?" said Farfarello with a little frown as Crawford drew back to check that all was well with the cart.

"No," said Crawford. "Though it is possible that we might attract the attention of an army patrol," he continued, thinking it was a poor thing for Farfarello to consider that Micah was unduly nervous. "We must remain alert, Farfarello."

"Yes, indeed," said Farfarello mildly. "I'm very much of the opinion that the army is to be avoided!" He said nothing more on the subject, though Crawford could see that he felt Micah was subject to silly imaginings of the sort that should not trouble a man trained in the rational carrying out of tasks. Crawford forbore to say that he no longer saw any future whatsoever, for any of them, for he felt that such a burden - if it were to be shared with anyone at all - was best shared amongst the smallest number of confidants. If he could have kept this lamentable state of affairs from Schuldig he would have, but the mind reader's powers did not allow such secrecy and he knew, moreover, that Schuldig would be very hurt to think he was being coddled as if he were a baby who needed such protection from hard truths.

The next day passed in much the same manner, the band of friends travelling in weary and watchful silence, glad to break at last at evening in a small valley for rest and food, lying in attitudes of repose about their little camp fire to eat a meal that consisted now in great part of gruel made from the tasteless Martian grain. Nagi curled up on his side the moment he had finished his share, falling asleep almost at once, while the others stared dully into the flames.

"This has been a good journey," said Micah suddenly, his eyes still on the fire started with his powers. "Though there have been hardships we have all worked together and won through. That's how things should be." He sighed, lifting his eyes briefly to survey the landscape. "What a desolate world," he said. "I'm glad to have had you to travel back with. The journey out was so lonely."

"Yes," said Schuldig in surprising compassion. "For my part I can scarce comprehend how lonely it often must be for you who are not mind readers, locked inside your own heads. For one of you to cross the deserts alone must have been more lonely yet. It was bravely done, Micah."

"Thank you, Schuldig," said Micah, looking up in seeming startlement. The other shrugged, as if to say his kindness meant nothing and should be disregarded. Crawford kept the smile from both his face and his thoughts, though he thought that there might perhaps be true peace between them at last, if he could only keep them from jealous arguments.

"It's still so hot," complained Schuldig, seeming a little embarrassed by his remarks. "I think I shall climb a little way up that incline, and perhaps I shall catch a breeze." So saying, he clambered to his feet and strolled off. Thinking this was no doubt to preserve the peace between Micah and himself, Crawford said only, "It'll be dark soon, watch your step among the rocks." Schuldig waved cheerfully in reply.

"It's a good idea," said Micah. "A breeze would be most pleasant. Look, Bradley, might not a wind blow down the natural corridor formed by these tall rocks? I shall go for a walk - will you come with me?"

"Yes, why not?" said Crawford, straightway rising to his feet. "I'll grow stiff if I sit here in this slovenly way much longer."

"I'll just guard the camp, then, shall I?" called Farfarello after them in some irritation before settling back and throwing small pieces of thorn bush into the fire one by one.

"The wind has carved these rocks into such phantastical shapes," said Micah, looking about him with interest. "I am surprised our Irish friend has not formed the opinion that we journey through Hell."

"Oh, do not give him ideas!" said Crawford with a laugh. "It's best not to discuss matters of religion with him, it is unkind to allow him to become too wrapped up in his obsessions." He laid a hand upon a smooth, rounded boulder. "Look at this. This is the action of waters, surely?"

"Long gone waters," murmured Micah. "Bradley," he said, turning to Crawford, his voice earnest and pleading, "you are sure you can break free of our masters? They have very supernatural advantage we have and more besides, and are skilled in planning and foresight. We might yet live productive and wealthy lives under their overlordship. Would you not prefer to see Schuldig and Nagi alive and in service, rather than free and dead?"

"I promised them," said Crawford. "I promised Schuldig he should be free, and I will not let Nagi ever enter the Schlo save to tear it stone from stone. Farfarello too - they all want to know they are free. I want --" he paused, and then went on, "I want to know I have won. I want them to see that if I ever bowed my head to them it was in the foolishness of youthful despair. They taught me to lead, they taught me to see that those such as us should be utterly free from the constraints and conventions of society, that we should rule -- and they expect me to _kneel_. Well, I am done with that, Micah. I have stood up and I shall not sink back down onto my knees for any man." He nodded fiercely as he said this, saying, "They shall not have me, and they shall not have anyone of mine. Not Schuldig, not Farfarello, not Nagi and not you."

Micah turned away, laying his hand upon the rock beside him. His voice was rough as if with hastily suppressed tears as he said, "That is all I needed to hear, Bradley. I do not doubt your intent, nor do I doubt your ability, believe me. If anyone could do this thing, it is you. All I heard of you in the Schlo, all that I have seen of you on this world, everything tells me you have neither false modesty nor a puffed-up sense of your own worth."

"We'll have a fine life," said Crawford. "Wait and see."

Micah nodded, then his brow creased in surprise and he leaned closer to the rock. "That's queer," he said. "Look, Bradley, is this not one of the flowers that grow in the cultivated areas? What is it doing out here?"

Crawford leaned in, seeing the small plant clinging to the crack in the rock, its leaves dry and dusty, its petals of darkest red wilting sadly. "It must have been blown here by the wind," he said, touching it with utmost gentleness, "and seeded itself in this crack. Whatever good it found has been all but exhausted, it would seem."

"Poor little thing," said Micah quietly. "To be so far from where it should be, to die in this desolate place." As he spoke Crawford felt, as it were, a shock run up his arm from the place where his fingers touched the plant and he gasped as the now horribly familiar sense of loneliness and abandonment swept over him stronger than ever before. "Bradley?" said Micah, holding him up. "What is it?"

Crawford felt most horribly weak and wanted nothing more than to turn about and find Schuldig standing by him. That he could not be consoled by his friend seemed at that moment most unfair to him. He looked into Micah's worried face, and thought of all the times that he had, as a boy, taken care of him in like circumstances, when neither of them had known what they were, nor anything outside the simple demands of boyish _camaraderie_. "Micah," he said. "Micah, I'm going to die here."

" _What?_ " cried Micah. "How? When? For Heaven's sake, Bradley! What have you seen?"

"Very little," admitted Crawford. "Only the desert and the fact that I am alone, and that I shall die in that state. It was so strong just now, Micah! It must be soon."

"You saw nothing else? What of Schuldig? You did not see him coming to your aid? And the others? They too were absent from your vision? What of me?" asked Micah in agitation.

"Nothing," said Crawford. "I see nothing of any of you. Perhaps you are all dead too. I'm sorry to tell you such things, brother, when I have just been saying we'll be free." He looked down at the red sands in misery.

"No, it is hopeful," said Micah. "If you do not see our future actions, then perhaps - no, certainly! - we have a freedom to act in ways not constrained by your oracular visions and so to surprise you! Do you think that we, your friends, should abandon you? Why, Nagi would walk through fire for you, would he not? Don't worry, this shall not come to pass." He smiled in a kind manner, continuing, "Embrace me, brother. There, that is better. I promise you, you shall not be alone. Even if the worst come to the worst, I'll be there. You won't die all alone. No, don't even think of weeping! Are you not my big brother? The time for sadness is past, Bradley, I promise. No more unhappiness, do you hear?" He set Crawford back, smiling as he dashed at his eyes in embarrassed silence. "It's all right. Shall I fetch Schuldig to you?"

"That's good of you," said Crawford, greatly moved that Micah would offer such a thing. "But I should go to him, and not ask you to act as a messenger --"

"You calm yourself," said Micah firmly. "I shudder to think how he might act if he sees you in such a state." He laughed impishly, adding, "Why, he might become quite hysterical! You see, Bradley, I shall be forced to tease both you and him if you do not behave!"

"Thank you," said Crawford. "Thank you, Micah."

Micah nodded. "I was so very glad to find you after so many years," he said. "Don't worry, brother. I won't keep you waiting long." Without another word he turned and walked off quickly, leaving Crawford to lean back against the rock, glad he had not disgraced himself before anyone other than a friend.

  


* * *

  
Perched on a rock that offered him both a view of the desert over which they had travelled and a chance to catch the evening breeze, Schuldig allowed his mind to drift, feeling he was, as it were, a leaf upon a vast and empty ocean. He caught the vaguest snatches of thought from his friends, Nagi being too far gone in sleep to allow more than misty and wistful nonsensical half thoughts to escape, and Farfarello seeming quite mesmerised where he sat staring into nothing at the camp site. Crawford was difficult to hear, no doubt, thought Schuldig, due to his habit of keep the walls about his mind firm and high. He sighed. It was a discipline that was good to maintain, for the habits of thought that allowed such defences could become lax and liable to fail unless one practiced regularly and frequently. It was unsettling thought, to be without even the few minds to which he had become accustomed over the course of their sojourn in the wilderness. "Is this," he wondered, "how it feels to be unable to read minds at all? How boring it is! No wonder so many men act stupidly, they must find some way of keeping themselves diverted." He concentrated on trying to reach out and read the minds of the _dov_ , but decided he was too far from them and that their brutish and Martian minds were not worth the effort. While he could indeed discern the most fiercely held and imminent intent of beasts on Earth, it was the minds of men that held the most fascination and ease of access for him. He had scorned those in the Schlo who had been able to, as it seemed, commune with dumb beasts, and had never wished to better his own abilities in that field.

"Schuldig," came a voice from near by.

"Micah," said Schuldig, turning about and wiping the quick frown from his face. "What is it?"

"There is a fine breeze up here!" said Micah cheerfully. "You have the better of it than we left down below!" He looked about him, adding, "A nice, deserted place for meditation! I merely came up to see if you needed anything, for Farfarello is talking about making more coffee."

"Oh, how could I consider missing _that?_ " said Schuldig dryly. "I thank you, but I think I shall stay here a little longer."

"Well, there is something else," said Micah. "I must speak to you very seriously, Schuldig, about Bradley. He seems quite queer in his mood this evening. He fears he shall die out here, did you know?"

"He said that to _you?_ " said Schuldig rudely.

"We are brothers," replied Micah. "It is not so unexpected, surely? We need to plan this out, Schuldig, for we both want him safe, do we not?"

Unwillingly, Schuldig settled down on his rock once more, having been ready to spring down to go in search of Crawford. "He sees himself alone," he said grudgingly. "I don't understand that, he sees that I'm somehow gone."

"That is queer," said Micah. "I'd have thought you would be a better friend, and stick by him."

"Why you --" said Schuldig in outrage.

"Now, Schuldig," said Micah, "don't be so touchy. I did not mean that as accusingly as it seemed - after all, where am I in such a _scenario_?"

"He doesn't know," muttered Schuldig, his feathers still ruffled. "He cannot see anything to do with you, you know."

"Nothing at all," said Micah. "It no doubt is a useful effect of what they did to me in Germany. Do you blame yourself," he went on, "for the thought he shall die because of some lax behaviour on your part?"

"He won't die," said Schuldig, refusing to admit to Micah that he had, since Crawford had first revealed this unhappy fate to him, tormented himself with exactly that self-blame. "I won't let it happen."

"I'm glad," said Micah. "But what of Nagi? The lad is devoted to Bradley, anyone can see that. Where can he be in all of this sad future?" He looked abashed, as if he would speak on but restrained himself.

"What?" said Schuldig in growing annoyance. "Speak your mind, it's not like you've ever held back before."

"You'll be angry," said Micah.

"I believe I am growing so already," snapped Schuldig.

"It's probably to distract yourself from feelings of blame," said Micah, going on before Schuldig could do more than utter a squawk of anger, "I wonder if you have somehow driven him away."

"What the devil do you mean by that?" snarled Schuldig. "You are the most infuriating -"

"There were those in the Schlo who had, no doubt, been treated very harshly when they were students there," said Micah. "Yet they showed no compassion to the children under their care, treating them as badly as they themselves had been used. One said he felt quite compelled in his abominable treatment of those smaller than him. It seemed quite common, Schuldig -- perhaps Nagi will simply grow tired of your attentions."

"What did you just say to me?" gasped Schuldig, feeling the blood drain from his face.

"Only what you said to me," said Micah, malicious pleasure in his eyes. "It's past time I returned the compliment. I merely suggest the boy would be well to stay out of your company. You should see your face," he added in satisfaction. "You look so guilty. What foresight was used to name you, I wonder? Did they see you would betray every friendship you ever so much as touched?"

"By all means, keep talking," said Schuldig, feeling his heart beat faster in fury. He slid from his perch to stand eye to eye with Micah. "I'll be glad to kill you where you stand."

"Of course, for you cannot obey either an order or a plea from my brother, whom you profess to love," said Micah. "But this is not the point, is it? The point is that you shall abandon him and he shall die and it will be _your_ fault. And you shall have done something to Nagi so that he is off alone in the desert and shall no doubt die, and that will be _your_ fault. And Bradley sees nothing of Farfarello, who no doubt perishes too, which will be _your_ fault. And now you want to kill me, his _brother_ , the only one of you all with ties of blood to him. Do you think he will thank you, or do you think he'll turn away in disgust, seeing yet another friend dead at your fault? You should hear what they say of you in the Schlo, Schuldig, how they recount all the friends you betrayed and failed and killed. The tally is impressive, Herr Dorfmann said --"

"Shut up," said Schuldig uncouthly, feeling his heart skip beats in time with the queer cadence of Micah's speech and a feeling of illness wash over him at the mention of Dorfmann's name. "Just shut up." He took a deep breath, thinking, "Oh, it is not my fault! I've been thinking of all the things I could do to save him! And Nagi -- what rot!"

"I can see you don't want to hear a catalogue of your sins," said Micah contemptuously. "As if that stops others from knowing exactly what you have done! Do you think Bradley doesn't know about the friends you have destroyed? Do you think he doesn't know that is how he himself will end? He read your _dossier_ over very carefully, Schuldig, he knows what a weak, vicious creature you are. He has guarded against you every step of the way, all through these years. _Everyone_ knows what you are, you vain, useless, treacherous thing."

Schuldig pulled out his knife and took a step forward. His hand was shaking only from pure rage, he thought.

"You disagree?" said Micah quickly. "How like you to try to evade the blame! Do you think Paul recognised your cowardly viciousness as he died?"

Schuldig stopped, feeling a vast and queer wave of nausea crash over him. "I don't know anyone by that name," he said thickly.

"Liar," said Micah genially, seeing how he swayed and looked very pale. "You pushed him under the train yourself! Or -- no," he said wonderingly. "Perhaps he leapt! What did you do to him, Schuldig, that a small boy should seek to destroy himself rather than be with you a moment longer? What sort of monster are you?"

"Stop," said Schuldig, feeling his heartbeat thunder erratically and tears beginning to rise. "Please stop, it's not my fault."

"It is," said Micah. "Everything is your fault. Your family willingly sent you to the Schlo because you are so evil; Paul died because you are so evil; you have corrupted Nagi because you are so evil and Bradley will die because you are so evil. You are to blame for all this." He laughed as Schuldig staggered, saying, "Did you so stupidly think you were beyond the discipline of our masters? Don't you remember how you laughed and clung to Herr Dorfmann as Paul died? Why are you crying? Do you think anyone could forgive you?"

"No," whimpered Schuldig, weeping and wrapping his arms about himself. "Stop! I'm sorry!"

"You destroy everything you touch," said Micah implacably. "Do you think Paul cried out your name, begging for mercy?"

"Please," said Schuldig, overwhelming panic suffusing him as it seemed to him that he could hear a train approaching. "Don't --"

"He trusted you and you killed him as he called out to you," Micah said viciously. "Am I not right --" He said a name that Schuldig could not hear, and the mind reader fell upon his side, curled up tight and sobbing. "You pathetic fool," said Micah in contempt. "As if you could have ever harmed me. Has not Bradley already seen you would be nowhere around when he needed you? You see, you _have_ failed him. Let us hope you learn to be more loyal hereafter, though I see little hope you can be salvaged. And now I must take my leave of you. I promised my brother I should not be long, you see. I should not like to keep him waiting."

With a savage kick that drove the breath from Schuldig's weeping form as a farewell, Micah turned and walked easily away.


	57. Chapter 57

_The desert north east of New London, 1880_

  
"It is always the same," thought Farfarello as he peered in glum dissatisfaction into the coffee pot. "When there is boring work to be done, I am the one to end up doing it! No doubt Schuldig will say I cannot properly feel the heat and so would not benefit from a stroll in search of a breeze. Pah! He did not used to be so indulged by Crawford, but he is becoming spoilt! He is not the only one to be worried over Crawford's visions, I should have some indulgence also." He laughed unwillingly at such petulance, and stretched out beside the little fire, wishing with all his heart that they had good strong Indian tea as well as coffee and the last remnants of green tea brought with them from Japan. When he thought of drinking tea sweetened with sugar and with milk he felt queerly nostalgic for the land of his birth. "Ah well," he thought, shaking off the stirrings of melancholy. "We could not have brought milk with us, I must wait. Where has everyone gone?" he thought, peering round. "Why, the sun will be down very soon." He rose and went to where Nagi lay, shaking the boy lightly.

"Nagi. Nagi! If you are going to sleep, go into the tent and take off your shoes. It will get very cold during the night."

"No," said Nagi, seemingly without waking, curling tighter upon the sand.

Farfarello cast his gaze up to Heaven at such childish intransigence. "All right," he said. "Don't blame me when you are stiffer than you have ever been before. Crawford will think you very silly."

Even this powerful name did not stir Nagi, who made no reply other than a little whistling snore. With a shake of his head, Farfarello sat once more, feeling quite bored with his lot. "The _dov_ will serve as guards," he thought suddenly. "I will go hunting! Finding one of those native sheep might give me almost as much sport as if I had a man to occupy my mind. I should tell Nagi I am leaving him alone." With this thought he went and shook the lad again, saying, "Nagi, I am leaving you in charge of the camp."

Nagi frowned in his sleep and tucked his folded hands beneath his cheek. Taking this as assent, Farfarello gathered together some of his knives and his rifle and sauntered off, whistling tunelessly to himself as he went. Thinking of how the native sheep loved to clamber about on the highest and thinnest of ledges that they could find, he started up the side of the valley in which they had camped, excited by both the thought of some sport and the hope of leaving enough meat in edible condition to supplement their supplies for the next day. While he himself did not care overmuch what he ate, the others would be pleased, he thought, for while he was insensible to most sensation he found it pleasing to make those who had become not only his comrades but his friends happy.

Surveying the sides of the valley and seeking out rocks upon which a sheep might hide, Farfarello became aware of a slight sound borne to him upon the pleasant breeze that cooled the oppressive heat of the day. At once he was wary, thinking this might be some beast previously unknown to them, and that could cause them harm. Rifle in hand, he crept forward, seeking out the source of the noise and stopped still in surprise as he saw, huddled at the base of a large rock, the weeping and shaking form of Schuldig. Running forward at once, though not neglecting to keep alert for possible foes who might have wounded his friend, he knelt by the young mind reader, feeling him all over for the site of injury he suspected.

"Schuldig!" cried Farfarello. "What has happened? Where are you hurt?" He received no reply, Schuldig being taken up in frantic repetition of words that at first made no sense to Farfarello, spoken as they were in a hushed voice made ragged by weeping and unhappiness.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," were the words Farfarello at last understood, once he had successfully dragged Schuldig's hands from his face, Schuldig seeming to need this screen against the world.

"Why? What have you done?" said Farfarello in bewilderment, a query that only made Schuldig weep the harder. "Come now," said Farfarello. "This will never do, Schuldig. You must tell me what has happened." He pulled his friend into a clumsy embrace, patting his back. "Oh," he thought, "What can have happened to him? I have never seen him like this, I do not know what to do." Pulling out his handkerchief he attempted to wipe Schuldig's wet and dirty face, saying, "Let's go back to the camp. Crawford will know what to do with you." Schuldig wailed, and it took some precious seconds before Farfarello could decipher this into a self-condemnation for their older friend's death. "Don't be silly," said Farfarello, "he's quite alive, he and Micah went for a walk." Schuldig shuddered, as if some loathsome thing had crawled upon him, apologising more and more fervently for sins Farfarello could scarce make out. After a little he heard names mixed in with Schuldig's torrent of words and frowned. "Nagi is at the camp," he said firmly. "You haven't anything to be sorry for where he is concerned, nor with me! And if you expect me to believe you are sorry for hitting Micah, then you must think me very silly --" He paused, and held Schuldig at arm's length, peering into his face. "What brought this on? What could make you sorry for your actions concerning him?" He shook Schuldig till some slight sense came back into his friend's face.

"I'm sorry," said Schuldig again. "I'm such filth. Herr Dorfmann was right --"

" _What?_ " said Farfarello, his eye widening in shock. "Why would you say such a stupid thing?" He paused, saying then, "Neither Crawford nor I would let you get in such a state to say such stupid things. Have you been fighting with Micah again?" As the sense slowly faded from Schuldig's face, Farfarello pulled him upright, appalled. "Stop it! What did he do to you? Crawford will know what to do -- stop that! He's _not_ dead, and it's _not_ your fault! Damn it, Schuldig, you're useless like this -- that's what this is about -- making you powerless!" He dragged Schuldig forward a couple of steps. "We have to get back. Walk, damn you! Come _on_ , Schuldig, snap out of it!" Thinking it poor to make a friend even more unhappy, but seeing little other recourse he added, "I left Nagi alone and asleep! No, you haven't hurt him -- come on, you can make sure he's safe, you can see nothing is your fault if you just come with me!"

"Nagi," breathed Schuldig, coming, as it seemed, more fully to himself. "I want him to be safe."

"Good," said Farfarello. "And Brad, you want to see that he's safe too."

"Farfarello," said Schuldig, as if seeing the Irishman clearly for the first time, "We are betrayed. Micah did this, he's gone looking for Brad."

"Yes," said Farfarello. "And we must get after him. There's a good fellow, come along." Supporting Schuldig with an arm tight about him, he led the way slowly back down to the campsite. He grimaced to see Nagi's little form lying unmoving not near the fire where Farfarello had left him, but near the tents, as if he had woken and obeyed the Irishman's injunction to go properly to bed, his thin limbs not relaxed as in sleep but splayed unnaturally as if he had fallen to strike the ground like, as it were, a _marionette_ whose strings had been cut.

"Oh," said Schuldig. "Oh, Nagi." He fell to his knees beside the boy, gathering him into his arms and crying hard once more.

"Hush," said Farfarello grimly. "We must not attract attention to ourselves. You in this state, Nagi --" he did not say what he feared, lest Schuldig lose what little control he had left. "We need to come at Micah by surprise, Schuldig. Here, let me see." He examined the limp form of the boy, carefully touching the bloodied and tender area on his skull where he had been struck. "He's not dead. Schuldig, wake him up."

"I'm sorry," whispered Schuldig, taking Nagi back and rocking him in his arms. "I'm so sorry, Nagi."

"Enough!" cried Farfarello. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and do the boy some good! Wake him _up_ , Schuldig!"

With a haunted look on his face Schuldig cradled the lad's head in one hand, holding him close as he shut his eyes. For a long moment he did not move and then the lad gave a sudden hard jerk in his arms, shuddering all over and whimpering.

"Schuldig!" cried Nagi, opening his eyes and flinging his arms about his friend. "Micah hit me! He _hit_ me, Schuldig!"

"We won't let him hit you again, will we?" said Farfarello, watching Schuldig carefully. He was glad to see the queer expression that had marred his friend's face be replaced, at least in some measure, by anger.

"No," said Schuldig. "We won't. You don't," he went on, abashed, "have to hug me if you don't want to, Nagi." When the lad clung on all the tighter Schuldig's face cleared a little in relief, and then hardened in fury. "That's enough now," he said softly. "We have to do something now, Nagi."

"Good," said Farfarello in satisfaction. "Will you be able for this, Schuldig?"

"I feel sick," said Schuldig, "and I feel like I want to do nothing more than curl up and sob. And I feel like killing the man who did this to me."

"Good," said Farfarello again, taking out a long-bladed knife. "Good."

  


* * *

  
"I should return to the others," thought Crawford, finding himself quite calm once more. "If this is a future that cannot be altered I should make sure that all is ready for their success when I am gone." He savagely kicked at a stone as a feeling of great sorrow that he should die suddenly came over him, catching him by unaccustomed surprise. "I must not be so damnably _weak_ ," he thought. "I must find some way to not make _them_ weak." Trying to think of ways that he could help his friends he found himself annoyingly distracted by desires to have Schuldig by his side. Though he was, by dint of long years and the threat of punishment when younger, accustomed to compel his mind to obey him and to push all other considerations aside save those that needed the force of concentration bent upon them, he found himself sadly bereft of such mental fortitude at this time. "Well, he will be here soon," he thought, "and I may, perhaps, snatch a few moments of quiet privacy with him. I must remember to tell him I do not regret a single moment of his company." This thought, he found, calmed him considerably, the sorrow left in its wake being heavy but not interfering with his mind as it had before. He leant against the rock, calculating how much of the gold his friends would have to spend to allow them the money to finance tickets on an ether flyer. No doubt they would need to allow twice the value of the tickets, to buy the silence of the men who would convert the precious items to cash.

Hearing small stones shift and move, Crawford looked up hoping to see Schuldig, in a fit of silliness perhaps, attempt to surprise him by slipping down the valley side. Instead he saw Micah, picking his way with caution.

"Is Schuldig on his way?" asked Crawford, not caring how he sounded.

"Not quite yet," said Micah. "I'm sure he'll be here as soon as he can. You must make do with me for now. You see, I told you I wouldn't be long, didn't I, Bradley?"

Crawford smiled at him. It was good of Micah not to leave him alone, he thought.

  


* * *

  
"Can't you walk any faster?" asked Farfarello in frustration. Beside him, Schuldig and Nagi struggled grimly along.

"I am fighting off the urge to be ill or to lie down," said Schuldig. "I am not malingering, Farfarello."

"I feel sick," said Nagi faintly, trying to feel the site of his wound and being prevented by his friends. "Your voices sound very echoey to me."

"Just a bit further," said Farfarello consolingly, though he felt he might scream at the halting manner in which the other two progressed. "Schuldig, can you hear Crawford? Where is he?"

Schuldig propped himself against Nagi, closing his eyes and looking as if he would faint. "Brad," he murmured. "Where --" His eyes snapped open. "That evil-minded bastard! Quickly, quickly, we must hurry!" So saying he seized Nagi's hand and towed the lad along to the best of his impaired ability, Farfarello beside him, still fretting at the pace they kept.

  


* * *

  
Micah looked upon Crawford for a long moment, unspeaking and unsmiling, as if he wished to fix forever within his memory the lineaments of his brother's face. Then, quickly and smoothly, he unsheathed his pistol.

"No closer, Bradley, please," he said.

"Micah?" said Crawford in surprise and alarm. "What is this?"

"You should have listened to Schuldig," said Micah, his voice rough. "You should have killed me long ago and we would never have come to this." He took a deep breath, never raising his eyes from Crawford's face and said, his voice calmer and easier, "This is a bad turn of events, is it not?"

"Micah," said Crawford. "Put down your gun. This is something we may resolve."

"How so?" said Micah with a bitter laugh. "Do you think you would ever forgive me for drawing a weapon on you? Do you think your men would? Let me put myself beyond the pale, brother. You should ask after your mind reader's health."

"What?" said Crawford, his heart feeling all at once as if it wished to escape the confines of his chest. "What have you done to him? Dammit, Micah! If you have harmed him --"

"No closer!" cried Micah, raising the pistol a little. "How queer," he said with a peculiar twist to his mouth, "here you are the one in trouble and you think of _him_. How weak you are! He is alive, Bradley, but you may rest assured he will not move from where he is. You have placed too much store in his aid -- things like him have a specific use; I suppose he is not entirely to blame for his shocking behaviour, having been indulged so much by you. You should console yourself that he will learn better."

"Schuldig," breathed Crawford, his mind suddenly taken up in worry for his friend.

"Enough!" cried Micah. "He is the source of your misfortune, brother. Your shameful indulgence of his fancies and whims have led you to this. That you should seek to betray our masters for the sake of, of a _creature_ such as that! Were you not warned what a mind reader could do? Did you simply not care, for the sake of his pretty face and gay humours?" He spat to one side, saying, "He took everything good and strong in you and perverted them to his own unmanly, unnatural desires."

"That is not true," said Crawford, his gaze fixed firmly upon Micah's face, for he disdained to pay attention to the pistol or to show fear, though the realisation that his brother was still loyal to their erstwhile masters shook him. "You do not understand. Perhaps things were ordered differently for students outside the Schlo, but we are quite ordinary for those raised within its walls - having been denied friendship so long, do you think people once they have left the Schlo do not want to have a friend, Micah? Did you not have one in India?"

This, it appeared, was the wrong thing to say, for Micah's face hardened in anger. "I knew my duty! When I was recalled to Europe I went! I did not compromise myself for my friend's sake."

"No, but if you are to be believed you allowed her to compromise herself for your sake," said Crawford, at last growing angry that his brother could act such a fool.

"I will shoot you down like a dog if you speak to me like that again," said Micah. "Don't think you can foresee how to avoid my shot, for I know you cannot." He glared in fury at Crawford, continuing, "How could you abandon your work? How could you be so stupid as to believe you would succeed in your rebellion? You cannot win against them, you should know that - you should not _want_ to! Bradley, we are remaking the world into a better place, how can you wish to separate yourself from this great task?" He seemed most excited as he spoke, his eyes shining as if he saw a great and glorious vision.

"It will never succeed," said Crawford dismissively. "It serves no purpose than to perpetuate the power of those you seem to continue calling "master", and to turn men and women who should be kings and queens to slaves. They have fooled you, Micah. They took you from slavery into slavery and told you it was freedom. They are slavers and liars, and you deceive yourself with every breath you take at their command."

"Do not throw the state of my birth into my face!" cried Micah. "Be damned to you! You have always had every advantage, while I have had none! You had wealth, status and education when I was but the son of your father's valet! You were the one they wanted when they came from the Schlo! All my life I have come in second to you!"

"You should not be jealous of my education," said Crawford, thin-lipped. "That is sheer foolishness. As for the rest, am I not glad to call you brother?"

"Now you cannot deny it, you call me thus," said Micah. "With our looks and the fact we both have powers you are _forced_ to acknowledge our relation."

"There was no compulsion in it," said Crawford quietly, thinking that Micah had had in the past reason indeed for jealousy, but that he must be persuaded that he had none any longer. "That we share a father is scarcely in doubt --"

"Indeed," said Micah coldly. "But have you considered that the father we share might be he whom I called by that name? Your mother was always so gentle in her speech to him!"

"You think to make me angry," said Crawford.

"Do I succeed? How does it feel to be the powerless one, to hear _your_ mother spoken of so?"

"My mother is dead. It matters nothing to her what is said of her," said Crawford, keeping himself quite calm. He very much wished the other to known that he might yet be forgiven, for he thought it clear that his brother was misled rather than truly treacherous. That those in the Schlo had a way of twisting a man's mind round till he no longer knew what was sensible and what foolish he well knew. Such insults bore, he thought, the mark of the spitefulness and vituperation of their erstwhile masters. "Micah, there has never been any need for such jealousy between us - especially not now! Put down your weapon, brother. I promise you there shall be no repercussions. This is just a moment of confusion and unhappiness - think how good it will be when we have achieved our aims! No man shall ever again tell you what to do or where to go, and you shall never lack for friends, never."

"I am not confused," said Micah, though his pistol wavered a little. "You are the one who does not understand, for if you did you would never have rebelled. Your treachery has been suspected, and now I have the proof. There is no place for you with us any more, you poor fool. You don't understand that you are nothing, _nothing_ , without your work and our organisation. You have thrown it all away, and cast doubt on _me_ by the mere fact of our relation, though I did not even know you lived until I was recalled to the Schlo! I prove my own loyalty with this and expunge our shame. I am going to take away the stain upon our name, Bradley, and you should be glad for my mercy, for you would take many days to die if you had been taken in Europe."

"You're not going to kill me," said Crawford, putting every ounce of belief into his voice that he might. "I haven't seen it --"

Micah laughed gaily. "Oh, Bradley! When you have already told me you saw your own death out here, with no friends by you! You cannot foresee my actions, no more than your corrupting mind reader can read my thoughts!" He smiled, as if Crawford were a stupid boy. "They said it would be useful and I should be glad I was man enough to withstand the pain."

"Oh, Micah," said Crawford in pity. "What did they do to you?"

Micah shrugged. "It was mostly in my boyhood. We both learned to endure hardship, did we not, you amongst the favoured students in the Schlo, me scrabbling amongst the refuse and rejects for the merest hope of acceptance and success?"

"All this cannot be simply because you wished to be in that hell on earth," said Crawford. "You owe them _nothing_. How can you be so blindly loyal as to excuse the agonies of their experiments, when you yourself admit they saw you as the detritus cast up outside their walls? Do you love them so much purely because they forced enough supernatural power upon you to light candles?"

"You are the blind one, deserted by your visions, forced to rely on your own weak sight," said Micah. "How easy you have been to mislead! Brother, brother, I love them for they will remake the world and men such as I will endure the slights of others no longer, and because they were _successful_ with me. Do you want yet more proof of our closeness, Bradley. That you were a strong oracle was never in doubt, while as for me --" He dropped his pistol as flames suddenly enveloped his arms, wreathing them in unnatural flickers of red and yellow. "A little better than a _candle_ , wouldn't you say?" said Micah viciously. "Your precious _friends_ will not recognise your body, Bradley. They'll think it some charred kindling." A queer expression crossed his face. "Breathe in when it happens," he said quietly. "It will be faster that way."

"Micah," said Crawford, seeing some hope of sympathy in the other's demeanour. "There is still time to stop this."

"Bradley --" said Micah, his eyes shining with tears he would not allow fall. "If that were so -- but I can't --"

"Stop!" came a cry from above them and Crawford looked to the side to see the others had taken advantage of his and Micah's absorption in each other to creep around them on the side of the valley. He was greatly shocked by the signs of injury and illness in both Schuldig and Nagi's faces. The blood that marked Nagi's boyish features angered him and he turned to Micah, crying, "Whatever you do, do not harm the boy further!"

"This must end," said Micah seemingly to himself, and the flames that wreathed his arms burned higher and brighter. He flung a hand towards Crawford with a loud ejaculation and fire rushed at Crawford's face, swift and deadly.

"No!" screamed Nagi in a voice filled with shrill fury. "He is not yours! You _may not have him!_ "

The flames stopped the merest breath from Crawford's face, filling his sight with red and yellow brightness. As he instinctively flinched away, though he felt no heat from them, nor the dreadful burning of his lungs he had expected, Nagi punched towards Micah and the flames rebounded upon him, not causing him the slightest damage with their heat, but knocking him from his feet with the force of the rage behind Nagi's will. As the boy sank down, his face pale and drawn, he gestured and Crawford found himself flattened to the ground, presenting the smallest target as he and the others had oft instructed the lad. Clearly putting forth the last reserves of his strength, Schuldig leapt down to the rocky valley floor, Farfarello a half-step behind.

"No!" cried Crawford, looking to where Micah raised a shaking hand to his forehead. "Don't! We can save him!"

It was no use, it was as if he had not spoken. As Micah attempted to clamber ungracefully to his feet Schuldig and Farfarello rushed past Crawford and were on him, the last of the sunlight glinting from their knives. Crawford cried out in sorrow, the final remnants of his childhood taken from him at last.


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter Fifty-Eight**

  
 _The desert, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
Crawford covered his eyes with shaking hands, willing himself not to weep any more, but found himself quite unable to bring himself under control. Hands touched him; he shook them off savagely, crying out vicious oaths, wishing only to be alone. He could not bear the thought of speaking to any of the others, and thought if he looked them in the face he would be unmanned even further. After a little he felt that everyone had withdrawn from him and was glad, in a painful unhappy sort of way.

"Crawford," said a voice then, breaking through his tears. " _Crawford!_ "

"Go away," he said. "Just go away."

Strong hands seized his wrists and pulled his hands down. Through vision blurred by both tears and the lack of his spectacles Crawford saw Farfarello's angry face.

"Stop this!" snarled Farfarello. "Stop this at once! Is this how you treat men who have saved your life?"

"I told you to _stop_ ," said Crawford. "He did not _want_ to betray us. He wanted to be free, and you killed him, you damned stupid Irish fool."

"You are like an hysterical girl," said Farfarello in disgust. "Don't think I won't slap you to bring you to your senses. Get yourself under control, Crawford, this is disgraceful behaviour. No matter what you think he _wanted_ , he _did_ betray us. He did something to Schuldig that has not yet run its course, he near broke Nagi's skull, and if you think that last assault on you was not meant to be fatal, your wits are addled in truth. All of this, and you prefer the man who has fought us, and undermined us and tried to _kill_ us, to your own friends who have proven their loyalty and love by years of service. Stop your idiocy and _think_ , man!" He bent and snatched up Crawford's fallen spectacles, holding them out. "Here. Come now, wipe your eyes. Brad," he said in a lower and more gentle tone, "I'm not asking you not to grieve. He was your brother, for all his faults, and you were happy to have found him. But _listen_ to me. Look over there, do you see how sorrowful Schuldig and Nagi are? Schuldig believes himself responsible for every misery there is in all the worlds at the moment, and your conduct is not helping him. Nagi thinks he has thrown away your love in the same moment he saved your life - he feels these things very strongly, Brad, being so young." He sighed, continuing, "I know you do not have the same regard for me as you do for Schuldig - or even Micah! - and are not protective of my views as you are of Nagi's. But if I deserve any recompense for the years I have fought at your command, then _look_ at them. They have sustained injuries and have fought for your life despite them. If you turn from them now, you are by no means the man I thought you were."

Slipping on the spectacles and squinting wearily at the figures huddled some way off, Crawford felt unaccustomed guilt at the sight of the sheer misery on Schuldig's face and the way Nagi stared towards him with an expression of deepest sorrow. Farfarello hauled him up as he extended an arm for aid, feeling as if he were a thousand years old. Trying to sound more like himself before he should have to speak to them and thinking Schuldig, who could be more spiteful in victory than he was in defeat, would no doubt wish everyone to make some unpleasant jokes, Crawford said, "Do not tell me you too are jealous of Schuldig, Farfarello."

"Indeed no," said Farfarello, a thread of dark humour in his voice. "They took all _that_ from me in the Schlo." Looking askance at Crawford's sudden horrified glance he continued, "I thought you knew. It's all right, I prefer life not to be more complicated than it must. Good man, you sound better. Now, lie to them with all your skill and convince them they are still wanted."

Crawford shook him off gently, quite unknowing what to say to him except to mutely indicate that he would do as Farfarello wished. He looked at the others a long moment before simply opening his arms. They crept up to him, their faces filled with both shame and hope and then Nagi through boyishness broke the unhappy spell and put his arms about Crawford, burying his face against Crawford's chest and saying something broken and unhappy in the tongue of his native land. A moment later Schuldig's arms were also about him, Schuldig competing for his attention with fervent statements in German.

"I'm sorry," said Schuldig in that tongue, "I'm sorry to be so disobedient, I'm so sorr --"

"Hush," said Crawford, hugging them both against him and saying, though the words were like ashes in his mouth, "Don't be sorry, dear friend, you did exactly the right thing. You have done everything you should." He was glad to feel, under the fingers that rested against Schuldig's throat that the mind reader's heartbeat at last began to slow from the headlong speed at which it had raced.

"Oh," said Schuldig softly and, tightening his grasp upon his friend, kissed Crawford as long and as deeply as he might.

"I cannot breathe," came Nagi's voice at last, in muffled complaint.

Pulling him free from their embrace, Crawford carefully put his hair back from his face, saying, "Let me see that wound. What a brave boy you are, Nagi. We must wash it carefully. Come, let us go back to the campsite and I will see that it is properly dressed." They made their slow and halting way back to the camp to find the fire quite extinguished where Crawford was as good as his word, cleaning and dressing the area of the injury, though Nagi hissed in pain and tried to edge away. Through it all Schuldig was beside him continually, wordlessly desiring his attention and to be reassured. Crawford was aware too of Farfarello's approval, but felt all at once that he could do no more and that it was unfair that he be expected to pretend he was all right.

"I'm sorry!" said Schuldig in alarm, as Crawford began, quite quietly, to weep. Crawford shook his head helplessly, and found himself seized by Schuldig once more. "We should be the ones to look after you," said Schuldig, clearly desiring to make himself useful. "You need to rest. We all need to rest. We'll all feel better in the morning. Farfarello! Help me!" Crawford found himself almost lifted off his feet and helped to his tent, where he was pushed down and covered over with blankets. Schuldig lay beside him, embracing him, and Nagi snuggled up tight on his other side. To his surprise, Farfarello lay down with them all too, putting an awkward arm across Nagi's form to rest a hand on Crawford's shoulder.

"Don't be sad," whispered Nagi. "We don't want you to be sad."

"I'm going to send you to sleep," said Schuldig gently. "Don't try to fight me, I have the most awful megrim." He touched their faces together, his voice continuing in Crawford's mind, "I _am_ sorry. I know that if you could be shot of the lot of us and have him here, you would."

"That's not true," said Crawford.

Schuldig just smiled sadly. "Liar. _Ach, mein Freund_ ," he whispered, stroking Crawford's face, " _weit du nicht wie sehr ich dich lie--_ "

Crawford heard no more, sleep rushing up to claim him.

  


* * *

  
 _Aboard the paddle steamer_ Demeter _, Atlantic Ocean, 1862_

  
Left to themselves in the dark and ill-smelling cabin in which they had been roughly flung, Bradley and Micah clung to each other, no longer weeping, for they had quite exhausted their supply of tears and had reached the point of despair where they could do little else but stare dully at their surroundings. It was the third day of the voyage and both boys, neither of whom had in their short lives ever before been aboard a ship, felt ill and filthy. No care was taken with them, the door being unlocked but twice a day so that their captors might put some bread and a bottle of fresh water upon the table that stood by the wall. Neither boy had eaten much more than a few mouthfuls of food each day in all the time of their captivity, feeling too sick at first with the effects of the chloroform and their terror, and then being so seasick. Exhausted and despairing, they had little energy for anything but seeking comfort in one another's arms. Even should they have been able to spare the effort to explore their surroundings, it would have taken but the very briefest of moments and availed them little. But for the narrow bed upon which they huddled and the small table affixed to the wall, the cabin was bare, the only other concession to human needs being a bucket their captors had mockingly placed in the corner with great ceremony.

"What do they _want?_ " whispered Micah, his young voice breaking a long silence.

Bradley shook his head and tightened his arms about his friend. That their captors had some purpose was clear, but they had disdained to share it with the boys, past a brief contemptuous statement that they were to be brought "where they belonged" and that they should be quiet and respectful until that time.

"Why would spies want us?" said Micah in misery. "We're only boys. Are they taking us to New York, do you think?"

"I don't think so," said Bradley, thinking all at once he heard himself speaking some strange and foreign tongue and seeing, as if in a mirror, his own self wearing the uniform of an unknown school. Although he did not believe his own words he continued, "Don't worry, I'm sure my father will pay them whatever they ask to let us go home again."

"For me too?" said Micah in dawning hope that he would not be seen as an extraneous burden that could be abandoned in securing the release of his master's son.

"Yes," said Bradley. Seeking to forestall further questioning he added, "Let's try to get some sleep so that we'll be fresh, in case we can find a way to escape." Releasing his hold on Bradley for a moment, Micah pulled the blanket that was their sole covering up around them, and the two little boys clung to each other once more under its shelter. Bradley told himself that he must be strong, and not cry for a while, for it was his duty to take care of Micah and to somehow contrive a way for them to reach their home safely once more. He crushed down as best he might his childish desire to see his mother opening the door and holding him safe, such thoughts serving only to make him all the more unhappy.

"I must be a man," he thought, glad he could feel his friend slipping into exhausted sleep, "and not think like a boy any longer. Just let them wait till we're free, Micah. We'll get them. We'll get them _good_."

  


* * *

  
 _The desert, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
Crawford awoke in sudden clarity, his mind quite free of the last remnants of sleep. Opening his eyes, he found Schuldig watching him from close quarters, the mind reader's left arm beneath Crawford's head, his right hand resting gently upon Crawford's face.

"It's all right," said Schuldig softly. "I just didn't want you dreaming of sad things."

Crawford found his gaze sinking from Schuldig's face, which astonished him as he was not accustomed to being unable to meet any other man's eyes. The thin arm about his waist tightened, and Nagi said in a voice no doubt meant to be a whisper but made loud by worry, "Is he all right?"

"I'm quite well," said Crawford sullenly, suddenly realising it was far later than his accustomed rising time, and that he had been the object of observation by the others. "You don't have to baby me. I'm getting up." Matching his actions to his words he shrugged off the hands touching him and clambered stiffly from the tent.

"Don't be offended," said Schuldig softly to Nagi, quickly following. Outside, Crawford seemed intent on acting as if the morning was a perfectly normal day, ignoring the concerned looks of his friends in favour of angrily rummaging through their supplies to find the wherewithal to make a pot of his horrid coffee. He struggled for a little with the matches, his hands shaking so that he dropped the first two to gutter out upon the sand, before ejaculating a foul oath and flinging the open box from him so that they scattered over the ground.

"Nagi," said Schuldig silently within the lad's mind. "Please gather them up for me."

"What's wrong with him?" asked Nagi in like manner, his misery quite clear.

"He's thinking of Micah lighting the fire every morning," answered Schuldig, continuing aloud, "Crawford. Come and sit down." He went over, tugging Crawford down to sit upon a low rock.

"You don't have to --" started Crawford.

"Maybe not, but I want to," said Schuldig. "Come now," he said quietly, "You are worrying Nagi." He indicated their young friend, who was currently engaged in making the matches float up to his grasp. "And you're worrying me."

"Are you all right this morning?" asked Crawford in a calm and professional manner that fooled Schuldig not at all. "I should have paid you more mind yesterday."

"I still have a dreadful headache," said Schuldig, deciding that he would be honest for once. "It is not all physical -- oh, it is difficult to tell you what it's like! I think I shall be all right, however, though you may find me annoying and close at hand for a while. No, no!" he said in sudden real alarm. "Do not feel guilty! Not when I'm like this!"

Crawford took a deep breath and squeezed Schuldig's hand, saying, "I did not mean to add to your misery. I think I should --" he paused, then said with determination. "You have something to eat. I am going to bury him."

Seeing behind Crawford's head Farfarello's sudden agitated gestures of refusal, Schuldig did not allow his friend to rise, saying, "None of us ate last night, and we are all exhausted and feeling ill. I would be failing you if I let you exert yourself without taking any sustenance. Eat a little, just a little. It is only sensible. Nagi!" As Nagi rushed up, he added, "Nagi, please make sure Crawford eats something. He needs the nourishment." Leaving Crawford in Nagi's care, Schuldig went to Farfarello, thinking, "What?"

"Keep him in the camp," thought Farfarello fiercely. "What if the _dov_ have been at that son of a bitch? He shouldn't have to see that."

"Damn," thought Schuldig in reply, closing his eyes for a moment. "We shall have to bury him ourselves," he went on.

"It's more than he deserves," thought Farfarello sourly.

"It's not him I shall be doing it for," replied Schuldig.

"When we have finished we shall need to got through all his belongings carefully," thought Farfarello. "Who knows what we might find - reports to and from the Schlo, perhaps. We'll need to know what they say of us."

"Yes. We shouldn't be disturbed for any of these labours -- I'll persuade Crawford to stay while we work," replied Schuldig. Going back to where Crawford sat, fending off the variety of supplies being offered by Nagi, Schuldig shamelessly wound his arms about his neck, whispering in his ear. "Brad," murmured Schuldig, "will you do something for me? Let me tire myself out with physical labour, you know it can help when I am in such a state. Stay, take care of yourself for a little, and let me start the work of digging the grave." At Crawford's surprised look he added, unhappily finding he did not dissimulate, "I feel guilty at the thought of the events of last night, I think I would find such a labour beneficial."

Crawford gave him a hard look, then said merely, "Very well. But I shall be there shortly."

Schuldig at once rose, nodding. "Yes," he said, and walked quickly to the cart before Crawford could say anything further. "Nagi," said Schuldig silently, "do not allow Crawford to follow us too quickly. Feign a headache or illness, keep him here by force if you must. But keep him here for half an hour at least after we have gone."

"I _do_ have a headache," thought Nagi sadly in response as he watched Schuldig and Farfarello take shovels from the cart and start off. He sighed and poured another cup of water for Crawford, sternly telling him to drink up, he had not had near his ration the previous evening.

  


* * *

  
"There," said Farfarello, pointing as they reached the scene of the previous evening'ss events. "Well, let's get to work."

They stood over their handiwork a moment before carefully emptying Micah's pockets and quickly searching the lining of his coat and the seams and hems of all his clothes, turning aside then to dig in a sheltered spot. There was no sign the _dov_ had been in the area, which Schuldig found obscurely pleasing. At the very least, he told himself, they need not work at a frantic pace lest Crawford become more unhappy than he already was, should he be allowed join them too soon.

"Digging again," said Schuldig. "This whole damn world has been one of digging. I never want to touch a shovel again."

"Huh," grunted Farfarello. "Don't think I shall do all the labour here. Keep your mind on your work."

The two young men dug carefully, excavating a deep pit. The work required little mental effort and was hypnotic in its requirements. They had little idea of how much time had passed before they all of a sudden heard Nagi's voice.

"Why don't I just move the sand away for you?"

Schuldig looked up to see Nagi, a bundle of canvas in his hands, with Crawford behind him holding a third shovel. "No," he said. "Thank you, Nagi. This is something I prefer to do by hand." He realised that this statement, queer though it seemed to him to pass up the chance of physical ease, was no more than the simple truth. Crawford silently joined in the work, and the three young men ended by digging a grave more than six feet deep. Taking then the canvas from Nagi, they wrapped Micah's still form within its folds and lowered him not ungently into his resting place, silently filling the grave thereafter with the displaced sand. This unhappy occupation fulfilled, Schuldig beckoned Nagi. "Could you assemble stones, lots of stones?" he said. "We should cover this up properly." He did not add the reason, knowing Crawford would understand that loose sand might provide a temptation to wild creatures. Pleased to be of service, Nagi made a great pile of stones collect themselves upon the grave, quite covering it over for a great area than the young men had dug.

Looking at Crawford's still and expressionless face, Farfarello said, "I could take a piece of wood from the cart and leave a marker."

Crawford said nothing, staring still at the cairn Nagi had raised. Laying a hand upon his arm, Schuldig said, "Do you want to say something?" For although they were none of them religious men, he felt that Crawford would wish to mark this moment in some way.

"What," said Crawford bleakly, "would be the point?" They stood in awkward silence for a moment, then Crawford said, his voice shaking and angry, "He was not lucky. He was never allowed to see what he could truly be, he was deceived into believing everything _they_ told him. He did not have the opportunity, as we have had, of true friendship that allows one to be more than one could alone. In other circumstances, this could have been any of us." He paused, going on more quietly, "I am sure he would have wanted things to be different. I should have seen a way to not let this happen. I failed him. This is all my fault." Ignoring the unhappy glances the others shot between each other, he looked up at the position of the sun, saying, "There is little point in attempting to journey on today. We may as well rest. At least the burden on our supplies is lessened from this point."

He walked away without another word, leaving his friends sorrowful and silent behind him.

  
Schuldig's words to Crawford: "Oh, my friend, don't you know how much I lov--"  
Thanks to [](http://janen-san.livejournal.com/profile)[**janen_san**](http://janen-san.livejournal.com/) for her grammatical aid!


	59. Chapter 59

_The desert, north-east of New London, 1880_

  
"Schuldig," said Farfarello softly, beckoning to the mind reader.

"What?" said Schuldig, stopping his occupation of observing Crawford. "Do you think he would like some food?"

"I doubt it," muttered Farfarello, pursing his lips at the sight of Crawford sitting unmoving under their canvas shelter, staring into nothingness as he had done most of the day. "Is he at least thinking?"

"Sometimes," said Schuldig in worry. "I don't know what to do, Farfarello." He blushed to make such an admission, which would in happier days have provided such excellent ammunition for teasing.

"He's not a weakling," said Farfarello in tones that indicated he truly hoped he was speaking accurately. "He'll snap out of it. Schuldig - we need to search Micah's things."

"Yes," said Schuldig. "Let's get it over with."

They brought all of Micah's belongings from the tent where they had been placed into the centre of the campsite and spread them out, investigating each item carefully. Nagi squatted by them, watching with interest as they instructed him in places where vital things might be concealed. Crawford ignored them at first until Farfarello's low whistle of appreciation _piqued_ his interest and he came over, his face severe and withdrawn.

"Look," said Farfarello, spreading out the banknotes he had found sewn into the lining of one of Micah's jackets. "There must be --" he counted quickly, "Three hundred pounds! Even with New London prices, he must have been living well. And papers identifying him as an agent of the Pinkertons."

Beside him, Schuldig ripped the lining from Micah's shaving kit and plucked out what lay beneath it. He looked at the folded papers carefully, handing them silently to Crawford who looked at them a long time before handing them back. "Well," said Schuldig. "Passports are always useful. I am a little surprised to find myself described as a Romanian citizen of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, though, I must say."

"Why is there a passport for Schuldig?" asked Nagi, coming to peer at the papers.

"He was going to take him back," said Crawford dully. "Schuldig --"

"Why waste an asset like me?" said Schuldig quietly. "Lots of agents want strong mind readers of their own." He looked up quickly at Crawford's sound of disgust. "I'm a valuable piece of property," he said.

"You are not property," said Crawford. He strode over to the _dov_ harness and went to work on the saddle, seeing the faint marks of mending upon it. From its interior he drew more papers and spread them out for the others to see. "Two return tickets," he said. "Open returns to Earth, for any etherflyer of the Cunard line, in his name."

"Expensive," said Farfarello. "You must feel appreciated, Schuldig."

"Yes," said Schuldig, touching one ticket with the very tip of a finger as if he touched something vile and horrible. "So much effort." He blinked as Crawford walked away then, with a gesture to the others indicating they should wait, hurried after his friend. "Crawford? Crawford!" he said.

"He was never meant to leave me alive --" said Crawford breathlessly, then shook his head. "No. No, they cannot have _known_ of my treachery, surely they only suspected. They gave him more than enough money to buy my ticket back. He never purposed to simply kill me out of hand." He hung his head.

"I think," said Schuldig carefully, "that he was meant to investigate. Surely they would not have sent him all this way simply to kill you. You're a strong oracle, Brad, they wouldn't throw you away without thorough investigation."

"I should have found a better way to convince him," said Crawford. "I know he believed in me, at least at times." He did not look at Schuldig as he continued, "I would never have let him take you away."

"I know," said Schuldig with more loyalty than conviction.

"Something else!" called Farfarello. They went back, both glad of the distraction. "These were between two pieces of leather in his saddle bags," he continued, holding out thin pieces of paper. "They are in his hand, I think, but I cannot read them, they are in a code."

"Give them here," said Crawford, holding out his hand. "Have I not trained in breaking codes?" He went then back to the shelter, taking one of his notebooks and scribbling notes with a stub of pencil.

"He's so angry," said Nagi. "And sad."

"He keeps telling himself he does not hate me," said Schuldig. Before either of the others could respond he said, "I'm going to keep lookout on that tall spur of rock. Don't bother calling me for food. I shall not be hungry." Striding quickly away, he seized up a bottle of water and his rifle as he passed the shelter and was gone from their view in mere moments.

"Farfarello?" said Nagi. "What should we do now?"

"I do not know," muttered Farfarello. "I really want to kill something."

"You always want that," replied Nagi waspishly.

Farfarello regarded him for a moment, then sighed. "Nagi, go and sit in the shade. Keep Crawford company, it may be good for the both of you, who knows? I'll keep searching these things." He pushed Nagi gently away and watched as the boy trailed hesitantly towards the shelter, where he diffidently sat by Crawford's side. Then he turned his attention back to his painstaking work, searching every inch of the _dov_ harness for weak seams and hidden papers. It was both a relief and a profound irritation to him that he found nothing, despite spending his time and effort for so long. It was more of a relief to him to return at last to the shelter and find Nagi curled up, his head upon Crawford's knee, with Crawford seemingly unconsciously stroking the lad's hair as Nagi dozed.

"How is his head?" murmured Farfarello.

"I think he should be all right," said Crawford quietly. "He is not seeing double, and has not been feeling sick. To have a headache is not unexpected. He was brave to do so much when newly injured. I should have expected no less."

Farfarello smiled at such a Crawford-like statement of praise and nodded towards the notes. "Have you had luck in deciphering them?"

"To some extent," said Crawford, meeting Farfarello's gaze determinedly. "There is some mention of Nagi. It seems as if he would have been taken too. Anyone bringing him to the Schlo might expect a reward. Micah was always so much of the opinion that that was where he belonged. Not only that, he reports on the garrison at New London and the officers he spoke to there. It is only that we were judged too costly to hunt that kept him from persuading the soldiers to give him men and aid in seeking us." He looked down at the sleeping boy, his mouth thinning at the thought of Nagi being taken captive.

"There's no point in blaming yourself," said Farfarello, both from consideration of Crawford's feelings and the knowledge that for him to continue in self-blame would make Schuldig more unhappy.

"Among these papers," said Crawford, pausing then. "Among these papers," he continued, "there are two pages with a differing view. These are notes for his report, I have no doubt. In one version he speaks highly of our loyalty and our efficiency, and makes no mention of Nagi at all. Was he hoping he would have persuaded us from our course? Did he think to somehow buy us time to succeed, or to hide? He must truly have put faith in the unreadability of his mind, if he thought to dissemble in front of _them_." He looked away, murmuring, "I wish I knew at what point he wrote those pages. What happened that he turned towards us, and then from us once more? I should have been more successful, Farfarello. I failed him, and I --" He stopped, wiping at his eyes briefly. "I don't want to fail any more of my friends," he said.

"You won't," said Farfarello. "You are too strong to fall prey to such a thing more than once." He nodded at the sleeping Nagi. "Why don't you leave me to look after him? You could go and find Schuldig -- he's gone off by himself, up on that outcropping over there, and said he did not want any food. He'll do himself harm that way, but you could persuade him of sense."

Crawford looked at him as if he well knew he was being given a task to perform to keep his mind occupied, then nodded decisively. "Is there food I could bring with me?"

"I fried some of the porridge in slices," said Farfarello. "No doubt they are thick enough to withstand being carried."

Crawford grimaced, then very carefully laid Nagi fully upon the ground. He quietly gathered up the food and a bottle of water, then picked up his rifle and stepped past Farfarello, squeezing the young Irishman's shoulder as he did so. Farfarello watched him clamber up the rocks to where Schuldig was sitting far above them and, fetching the spyglass, watched Schuldig refuse the food in seeming irritation. An awkward and argumentative conversation seemed to follow, ending finally with Crawford sitting beside Schuldig and pulling him, resisting, into his arms. Farfarello grinned as Schuldig stopped his sulky struggles and flung his arms tight about Crawford. As Crawford set him back and solemnly held a piece of the fried porridge up to Schuldig's face Farfarello closed the glass and settled back to rest, well pleased at both the better mood his friends were in with each other and the fact that - when he was quite recovered - he could now tease Schuldig about eating out of the palm of Crawford's hand.

  


* * *

  
 _Two days outside New London, 1880_

  
The final days of their journey had been quiet and uneventful, the young men resting in the hottest part of each day and camping as comfortably as they could each night. Crawford had found it easier by the day to become more silent, more withdrawn, for he felt he had been both a fool and a failure. Although his friends were gentle with him, he felt the sting of their supposed criticisms keenly, and vowed he should be more careful with them in future, spending his days thinking hard about their course from this point on. All his previous plans, it seemed to him, were in need of review and so he spent each day from waking to sleeping going over the smallest _minutiae_ of which he could conceive, forgoing all the pleasant intercourse of friendship in the interests of securing the future safety of those same friends. The concerned enquiries of his friends he turned aside brusquely, assuring them he was quite well, and needed only peace in which to make his plans, which brusqueness had at last the effect that he was left mostly in peace, a situation he found queerly disquieting as he himself had sought it.

The ground beneath them changed, by slow and imperceptible degrees to a deeper red, with small native plants making a more frequent appearance, and the thorn bushes, which even in the uncharted wilds of the high desert were by no means uncommon, grew to a height and width that was, by Martian standards, positively extravagant. At last a distant glimmer of flat, shining green revealed itself as the great canal that ran through New London, fields of yellowing native grain stretching on either side of it on the strips of fertile land.

"The sea! The sea!" laughed Schuldig gaily.

"But it's the canal," said Nagi in confusion, as Crawford looked at his friend in some surprise.

"I did not think they had you studying the classics in the Schlo," he said, thinking that since he had known Schuldig the mind reader had cared little about any reading material that was not sentimental and sensational in nature.

"They did not," said Schuldig, a dizzy look crossing his face, one which he dispelled, as it seemed, by sheer will alone.

Crawford looked away, ashamed that he had made his friend feel unsettled, even for an instant. Schuldig sighed wearily beside him, and Crawford felt more ashamed yet. Tiny snippets of Schuldig's former life had, it seemed, been shaken loose, though as none of them were useful in the slightest in their current state Crawford felt it better to simply ignore them, feeling they served only to unsettle his friend; any attempts Schuldig made to refer to such insignificant revelations met no response from Crawford.

Reaching the canal at last, the little party of friends wearily dismounted and stood, staring in dumb wonder at the sight of so much water. Their _dov_ pulled at their reins, nigh overbalancing as they stood daintily upon the very edge of the canal, reaching down to drink their fill.

"We've done it," said Schuldig in the flat tones of one who wished to move not an inch from where he stood. "We've made it back."

"Yes," said Crawford. "Make camp. We need proper rest."

"It feels so cool," said Nagi in wonder, holding his hands out to the breeze that came from the water.

"We could go swimming," said Farfarello, lying down and trailing his hands in the water.

"I can wash my hair," said Schuldig, his eyes suddenly bright.

Crawford nodded. "We can all wash," he said. "We cannot go into the city looking as we do. There is no hurry, however. We should stay here for the next day and a half. A barge will pass by then. We'll take it and enter the city quietly."

"A day and a half?" said Schuldig. "Why, that's good, Crawford! That is the furthest you've seen yet!"

"Yes," said Crawford with a small smile, glad that his foresight had indeed slowly been returning. "Let's draw off some water, and heat it. I am tired of being so very filthy." This suggestion had no sooner been made than fulfilled, and the first of several large pots of water was quickly set upon a quickly assembled fire. "One thing," said Crawford, watching Schuldig eagerly lay out the necessary items for his _toilette_. "Don't shave. We mustn't make it too easy for the soldiers to recognise us." Schuldig's shoulders sagged. "I know," said Crawford, "it is very annoying, but we shall all suffer together."

"Except Nagi," muttered Schuldig, casting envious eyes on Nagi's smooth cheeks. "Oh well," he went on, "at least I shall be clean!"

The water being hot at last, Schuldig eagerly claimed the first pot and washed with an enthusiasm that would have done justice to even the most diligent of cats, finishing his ablutions by flinging himself into the canal and triumphantly watching the dirty soap suds float downstream. "I am not coming out," he said, floating peaceably upon his back. "I shall enter the city like this."

"Which shall excite no attention whatsoever," sniggered Farfarello, throwing little stones at him. Schuldig made him no answer other than an uncouth gesture, and continued his occupation of floating and staring quietly at the sky. One by one, as they too scrubbed the dirt of the weeks of travel from their bodies, his friends joined him in the water, watched with interest by the _dov_ , who forbore to join in their riders' fun. At last the young men climbed back onto dry land and sprawled, clean and bare, under their quickly erected shelter.

"We should unpack the clean clothes," said Crawford, "they may well smell musty and should be aired." He looked appraisingly at Nagi, continuing, "Let us hope the ones for you still fit, you are taller than you were, I think." He looked about him at his friends, vowing again that he should do everything in his power to keep them safe. "I have been thinking on what we need to do," he said. "First, what we need in order to leave Mars, and then what we should do about our enemies. The easiest step shall be entering the city - the barge will give us and the bare minimum of our luggage passage. We'll purchase this and the bargemen's discretion with the cart, our camping equipment, anything of our own that we can bear to lose, and the _dov_." He put a consoling hand upon Nagi's shoulder as the lad turned an unhappy and hurt gaze on him. "We need to enter the city as quietly as possible," he said. "What would we do with them if we rode them back? We cannot take them to their stable and say, 'Here we are, back again.' They will be well cared for, Nagi." The lad turned his gaze down upon the ground, silent and uncomplaining. "Good boy," said Crawford quietly. "Now, as to how we present ourselves in the city - we'll split into two groups of two --"

"It's all right," said Nagi, quite clearly trying to atone for his boyish disappointment over losing the _dov_ with his matter of fact tone, "I know I should pretend to be a servant."

"No," said Crawford. "They are looking for Schuldig and I, and our supposed servants. Let them look, for we will be quite otherwise. Schuldig and Farfarello - you will be together. I think, Farfarello, that you must be a blind gentleman, and Schuldig your companion. Your beard will hide at least some of your scars."

"I'll get spectacles with dark glass when we are in New London," said Schuldig. "They'd be less memorable than your eyepatch."

Farfarello nodded. "I'll come up with some tale of hunting for anyone rude enough to press me," he said. "What's more," he said switching to German, "they are looking for an Irishman. Let me stop being one for the time being."

"Finally you are civilised," said Schuldig in the same tongue.

"What's that, my lad?" said Farfarello in a confused voice. "I can't make head nor tail of your queer Romanian accent!"

"I suppose I must be a Romanian," laughed Schuldig. "At least I have a very nice passport to go along with that!"

"And you'll be with me," said Crawford to Nagi. "I have dark hair and eyes, your hair and eyes are lighter than is usual for boys of your race. I think we shall have little difficulty in persuading people that you are but half-Japanese. Do you think you can remember to call me 'Father'?" He smiled at the lad's surprise, continuing, "I'll make my beard neater, but will leave as much as I might. It will add some years to my appearance. You - well, you are taller as I said, but I think you should still be seen as a boy somewhat younger than you are. Don't attract too much attention, and we'll be ignored. If you are pressed with questions, tell them I am a missionary who was previously in Japan, and has come to Mars to bring the Good News to the natives. Your pardon, Farfarello!"

Farfarello laughed shortly. "Don't worry," he said, "I'll be able to remember that you are no missionary in truth!"

"Hmm," said Schuldig, regarding both Crawford and Nagi critically. "I think it will still be the general opinion that you married scandalously young, Crawford!"

"Well, we should not be in the city for long enough to attract such scandalised attention," said Crawford. He paused a moment, then went on, "Micah Crawford is not a wanted man. I'll use his passport and his tickets - no one would find it surprising that a child's name is not on an etherflyer ticket booked by his father. Let Micah do us some good," he said, looking aside.

After a considerate silence, Schuldig said, "His passport _does_ make mention of him being a Negro, Crawford."

"What of it?" said Crawford. "It says his complexion is not dark. I can leave it as it is, or alter it, if you feel it too risky."

Schuldig looked long into his face, scrutinising its details carefully. "Alter it," he said at last. "I do not think people would accept it as truth."

"Very well," said Crawford calmly. "And I'll change the details on Nagi's and Farfarello's. What names do you want?"

"They called me 'Peter' in the orphanage," said Nagi, who in all this time had not taken his eyes from Crawford's face.

"Very well, Peter Crawford you shall be. Remember to come when I call you by that name! And you, Farfarello?"

Farfarello lay back, an expression of wicked humour crossing his face. "Heinrich Dorfmann," he said.

Schuldig choked upon the mouthful of water he was at that moment drinking. "If you think I shall call you 'Herr Dorfmann' all the way back to Earth!" he cried.

"Why not?" said Farfarello. "It's just a name. You should not let it have power over you any longer, Schuldig. We're free, aren't we? Be damned to him, let his name be the one that gets us home."

Schuldig stared at him, then shook in what Crawford saw was laughter. "Be damned to him," Schuldig repeated. "Let him learn I am not afraid of him any more. Very good. I have no objections to your choice."

"You're sure?" said Crawford.

Schuldig nodded contemptuously. " _Ja_ ," he said with finality. "I am sure."

"Good," said Crawford. "As for what we do when we reach Earth once more, I am not yet decided. That we are at least suspected, there is no doubt. It would be madness to put ourselves within their reach. We will not go to the Schlo, and must find another way to make them leave us be. We shall have plenty of time on the etherflyer to plan, do not fear. I will not let us be taken by them, and we _will_ succeed. Now - let's tidy ourselves up a little, make ourselves look less like the men we were. Schuldig, if you come here, I'll make your beard less annoying to you."

"Yes, please!" said Schuldig, willingly and trustingly putting his head back to allow Crawford's razor access. Crawford carefully lathered his face and went to work, leaving him, when the soap was washed away with a neat and closely cut moustache and small tight beard that accentuated the fox-like appearance of his face. "That feels a _little_ better," said Schuldig, peering at himself in the small mirror. "I cannot wait for it to be fully gone, however!"

Farfarello was next, his beard being clipped into neatness, but left to obscure as much of the scars as it might. Crawford then took his scissors and cut Farfarello's hair until it lay smooth and respectable, totally unlike the spiky appearance it had previously had. When it came to Nagi's turn the boy sat quiet and pleased in front of Crawford, having his hair turned from a shaggy mop to neat shortness such as any schoolboy might sport.

"Perhaps you could cut mine?" said Crawford to Schuldig. The young German had not spoken for some time, his eyes fixed upon the scissors in Crawford's hand. Now he silently took them and the comb from Crawford and neatly and quickly went to work, leaving Crawford feeling that his head was queerly light. Leaning in close, Schuldig made quick work of tidying Crawford's beard.

"You do look older," he said quietly. He rose from his knees and stretched, running a hand down the length of his hair, then turned about and quietly held the scissors out to Crawford once more.

"Nagi," said Farfarello. "Help me pack up the gold securely. That's all we should take with us." He drew Nagi away with him, handing the lad's clothes at him as they went, and laughing at Nagi's insistence that he should be called 'Peter', to accustom himself to the name.

"Schuldig," said Crawford, taking the scissors. "I have not been good to you of late."

"You've been unhappy," said Schuldig evenly.

"So have you," said Crawford, "and some of it lies at my door. I'm sorry."

"Let's not start that," said Schuldig. "I am better, truly, and will be as gay as ever once I know that _you_ are really all right. Go ahead, Brad. It has to be done."

Crawford sighed, combing Schuldig's hair straight and smoothing it down with his hand. "I'm never going to do this again," he said, very quietly. "Even if you grow it down to your ankles, I'll never cut it again. We'll go to Paris, like you wanted, and we'll do everything you've ever so much as considered in your most idle whims, and no one will match you." He lifted a swathe of Schuldig's hair and, placing the blades of the scissors near his friend's head, cut it across. Schuldig shuddered, but kept silent and still. Crawford put down the scissors and very carefully coiled the bright copper-coloured hair tightly, searching out his wallet and stowing it within, as if it were a very great treasure. Turning about he saw that Schuldig's eyes were bright, and that much of the miserable tension in the way his friend sat was no longer evident.

"Brad --" said Schuldig, stopping then and clearing his throat. He smiled at Crawford, sharp and fierce. "Go on," he said. "It's only hair. It will grow again."

Crawford pressed his lips to his brow, and went to work, cutting neatly and quickly before his courage failed him. When he was done he knew the chance of Schuldig being recognised was very small, though he felt very sad to see his friend touch what was left of his hair with hesitant dismay. "It's still beautiful," he said quietly, and put an arm about Schuldig's shoulder, and they sat silently together, watching the breeze whirl the long copper strands away to land on the green waters of the canal.


	60. Chapter 60

_New London, 1880_

  
"Make ready," said Crawford as they waited in the dark before dawn. "Our transport is coming."

Out of the morning gloom came at last the shape of an approaching canal boat, slow and stately. Crawford leant out over the edge of the canal, calling and waving at the sailors. The barge drew up beside the little group of friends, the Martians staring at them with frank curiosity. Schuldig concentrated but could detect no ill will on the part of the natives as Crawford conducted a discussion with them in his careful and, Schuldig saw, well-received speech in the Martian tongue. At last Crawford turned back, signalling the others up.

"Pack only the chests," he said. The Martians willingly helped, laughing at the weight of the chests that contained, under an initial layer of non-precious artefacts and clothing, the artefacts and coins of gold.

Nagi hesitated upon the canal bank, watching the Martians who had been, Crawford said, deputed to bring in their payment for the journey over land. He clung tight to the great neck of his _dov_ , pressing kisses upon its massive and scaly snout, then with many a mournful glance back went to the barge where Schuldig held out a hand to help him down. Nagi stood upon the deck, regarding his shoes in deep misery.

"Good lad," said Schuldig, holding him close. "A man must learn to make sacrifices. The _dov_ will be well cared for, don't fear. Now, you go and sit with Crawford. Practice treating him as your father." He gave the lad a gentle push and went himself to the other end of the vessel, sitting upon a coil of rope. He had no wish to speak with either his friends or the natives, and spent the time until it was fully light engaged in staring morosely out in the direction in which they travelled. His head felt queerly light, and the wind on his bare neck annoyed him beyond all reason. When he looked down at himself he found himself expecting, once or twice, to see the old-fashioned uniform in which the boys of Schlo Rosenkreuz were clad, and shuddered at the thought. "Make yourself better company, you do neither yourself nor the others any good like this," he thought, and schooled himself to smile politely when one of the native crew offered him food and drink. When he felt he could be pleasant in truth he rejoined his friends, sprawling with them under an awning the natives erected, and dozing at last with Crawford's hand clasped loosely within his own. Thus the little band of friends passed much of the day, waking when the worst of the heat was over and gratefully accepting the meal prepared for them by the native crew.

"This is good," said Schuldig, keeping to his resolution to be pleasant company. "How fine it is to have something worth eating after the last weeks!" He silently cursed himself then, thinking they had eaten well enough when Micah was alive. "I should not allow myself to speak after waking before I have had my coffee!" he thought, glad Crawford said nothing but merely nodded and continued eating his meal. He allowed himself to be at ease, watching the others as they ate with good appetites.

"Will we be all right when we enter New London?" asked Nagi, looking with longing at the piece of fruit Farfarello was eating until the young Irishman sighed and handed it to him.

"We shall be perfectly all right," said Crawford firmly. "You and I shall take rooms in some respectable hotel that fits our apparent status, Schuldig and Farfarello shall do likewise. We'll live quietly and unobtrusively until the ship departs. The ships run on a schedule - we shall have almost two weeks in the city before we leave. Don't worry, Nagi, we know what we are doing."

"Won't we see you at all when we're there?" asked Nagi in an uncouth way, his mouth full. He looked at Farfarello and Schuldig in some alarm, causing Farfarello to grin in a way that twisted his scars horribly. He reached out and tousled the lad's hair roughly.

"What?" he said, "Do you think we'll be at each other's throats if you aren't there to tell us to mind our manners? We will be sensible -- or at least I will! I cannot vouch for Schuldig."

"Please, feel free to call me Mr Chitul," said Schuldig, waving his new passport at Farfarello.

"As you wish, Valeriu," cried Farfarello. "Pray endeavour to make your German more accented!"

"Will they really be all right?" whispered Nagi to Crawford as their friends bickered cheerfully.

"Don't pay them any attention," smiled Crawford. "They are teasing you." He patted the deck beside him, and Nagi quickly wriggled to his side. "Remember," said Crawford, "you must act as if you are younger than you are. Try not to be so solemn with people you do not know -- it is quite all right to be quiet, that will be taken as you being well-mannered, but if you are spoken to you should smile and answer questions put to you. Don't worry, no one will ask you anything important if they consider you a child, it will all be 'Do you work hard in school?' and other such matters of burning import!" He nodded approvingly at the smile Nagi gave him then. "Yes, good lad -- but do try not to let people see you despise them!" He looked at Nagi, his eyes narrowed as he thought. "Yes," he said at last. "You'll be all right. I must buy you some more clothes, however, you can hardly survive as a respectable boy with just one set."

"Oh, _Crawford!_ ," cried Nagi in disgust, for he despised shopping for clothing and shoes almost as much as Schuldig enjoyed it. "Must we?"

"Now now," said Crawford. "How should you have answered me?"

Nagi dropped his eyes to the deck, thinking how horrid it would be to be measured and have to endure a tailor extolling the virtues of his materials. "Yes, Father," he said sulkily.

"He has the tone down perfectly!" hooted Schuldig. "Nagi, you are a natural dissimulator!"

"Don't tease him," said Crawford with a little smile. "Nagi, ignore our friend Mr Chitul." He drew the lad close to him, murmuring, "Remember, you are a nicely brought-up boy. You'll remember to be polite, won't you, Peter?"

"Yes, Father," said Nagi in a more respectful tone. Then, worried, he continued, "But Crawford, I can't remember anything about when to kneel or to stand, and I never really learned the prayers properly in Latin."

"It's all right," said Crawford. "We'll be Protestants, and low church at that." He allowed himself a wicked grin at Nagi's confusion. "Farfarello can explain it to you."

"What species of stupidity and lies am I to explain?" asked Farfarello, his attention attracted by the merest mention of things spiritual.

"Oh," said Nagi in sadness, before he was summarily given over to Farfarello's instruction, and Schuldig seated himself, grinning, in his place beside Crawford.

"You are an evil man," he said, sniggering at Nagi's expression as Farfarello warmed to his subject.

"It's why you love me," said Crawford. "I know you shall be sensible," he went on, "but don't forget to keep a close eye on Farfarello. He mustn't become too excited by being surrounded by so many other people once more."

"I'll knock him out the moment he gets too murderous," smiled Schuldig. "I myself shall _try_ to be sensible, Crawford, but I _am_ looking forward to other minds -- it shall be quite intoxicating at first!"

"Don't become too drunk," said Crawford, putting an arm about his friend. "Don't let Farfarello draw attention to you. Don't get caught."

"As if I should!" scoffed Schuldig, leaning against him. "Don't you get caught, either," he said softly. "It would make Nagi sad if you were hanged."

"I shan't," said Crawford, tightening his embrace. "Can you make us less memorable in the crew's eyes?" he continued.

"Don't worry," said Schuldig dismissively. "By the time we disembark they won't think us anything to gossip about. We shall just vanish from their lives and their memories." Putting such concerns behind him then, he resolved simply to enjoy the company of his friend for as long as he should have it, and to plan a celebration for the coming time when they should have rejoined each other once again.

  


* * *

Farfarello leapt lightly from the boat as it drew up to the quay. Although it was yet very early, many of the natives were hard at work on the docks, moving crates and barrels and loading and unloading the vessels that plied the canal. The others followed more slowly, Nagi and Schuldig rubbing at their eyes and yawning widely. Crawford thanked the native crew as they unloaded the last of the friends' baggage, and then turned to the others.

"Let's divide this up," he said. "Nagi, you and I are claiming to be travelling home with all the worldly possessions we brought to Mars, we can take the majority."

Nagi nodded, prodding at the baggage with one foot and hoping he would not be required to carry it, as he could not think of a way to do so unobtrusively.

"Are you stealing the gold?" said Farfarello in a low voice, laughing to show he was not serious. "For shame, Crawford!"

They quickly divided the chests between them, contracting with different native carters to take the bags and themselves to hotels, and then stood, smiling at each other. Nagi felt all at once that he had not realised how much he did not want them to separate until he saw Crawford shaking hands with first Farfarello and then Schuldig. What, Nagi thought, if something went wrong? What if Farfarello were arrested? He could not bear the thought that this might be the last he would see his friends. His heart sank as he considered how sad Crawford would be if something happened to Schuldig while they were apart.

"Cheer up," said Farfarello, ruffling his hair. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

Schuldig embraced him quickly. "We'll all be all right," he said. "We'll be together on the ship. You'll take care of Crawford for me until then, won't you?" Nagi nodded against his chest, clinging on to delay his friends' departure for a moment more. Then Schuldig pressed him back into Crawford's grasp and stepped away. " _Auf Wiedersehen_ , Crawford," he said.

" _Auf Wiedersehen_ ," replied Crawford and turned away, taking Nagi's hand in his. He led him to the cart on which their share of the baggage rested and climbed up beside the driver. "Come on, Peter," he said. "Let's find a hotel."

"Yes, Father," Nagi obediently replied and climbed up beside him. He leaned against Crawford, glad to feel an arm laid across his shoulders. Although he felt it hard to resist, he did not look to see in which direction Schuldig and Farfarello had gone and stayed quiet until they had quite left the area of the docks. The cart moved slowly along, stopping at last at a small, clean establishment.

"This looks respectable enough," said Crawford. "Yes, it will do." To Nagi he went on in quiet Japanese, "It will do for tonight. We can move in the morning. There is no point in staying somewhere where some simple questions would easily track us down." He paid the carter and took Nagi inside, quickly arranging for a room for the night. Claiming then to be tired from his travels, Crawford asked for a tray of food to be sent to the room and whisked Nagi away. "Help the porter and me with the luggage," he said, and Nagi made it as light as if they contained only clothing and the necessities of life, storing it in a downstairs room as they would move again in the morning.

Once they were safely in their room, Crawford waved Nagi to one of the narrow beds that stood against each of the side walls and sat upon the other. "We'll let the others settle themselves in today," he said. "Tomorrow we'll purchase new clothes for both of us and see about moving somewhere else. A little more comfort than this, I think, with a room for each of us."

"Isn't that wasting money?" asked Nagi, for he had not thought about sleeping by himself and rather thought he would prefer not to.

"Perhaps so," said Crawford. "We are respectable persons of the middle class, however, and should live like that." He smiled, continuing, "You'll be glad not to endure my snores, no doubt!" Before Nagi could loyally say he did not snore, Crawford looked up. The next moment a knock came on the door and their breakfast was delivered to them. "Eat up!" said Crawford, looking at the fresh, buttered toast as could only a man who had subsisted on porridge made from the bland native grain for too long. Nagi felt he did not want anything, but the very first mouthful overcame him and between them they devoured all the food in a very short space of time. "We should rest," said Crawford at last, when the tray had been taken away and offers of further refreshment refused. He undressed and climbed into bed, sighing and prodding at the pillows in discontent. For his part, Nagi lay on his bed, listening to the noises in the street and worrying that at any moment the soldiers would arrive to arrest them both. Looking over he saw that Crawford was clearly still awake and, slipping from the bed quickly so that there should be no time to reprimand him, Nagi crossed the room and snuggled in beside him.

"Schuldig said I was to take care of you," he said.

Crawford laughed quietly and put his arms about him. "So he did," he said. "I know you won't let me come to any harm." So saying he closed his eyes and relaxed. After another moment Nagi did likewise, and they slept, the luxury of a bed no longer unsettling, but comforting and pleasurable.

  


* * *

  
"We should arrange to make you look like a proper blind man," thought Schuldig, looking about him at the streets. "When the shops are open I'll buy things you'll need."

"As long as I am not expected to be pushed in a bath chair I'm content," answered Farfarello in like manner.

"You've lost your eyes, not your legs!" thought Schuldig, grinning sidelong at him. "Ah, look, we are here," he went on aloud in his native tongue. "Is this the hotel?" he asked the carter in heavily accented English, receiving a nod as the only answer. " _Ja_ ," he said in German once again, "this is our hotel, Herr Dorfmann. Please, allow me to assist you down."

"Thank you," said Farfarello in that same tongue, climbing down very clumsily and seeming in danger of falling in the street. He clung to Schuldig's arm, murmuring, "I never expected to hear you use such formal speech to me!"

"Try not to become accustomed to it, my dear Herr Dorfmann," said Schuldig. "I should hate for you to be disappointed when we are alone!" He tucked Farfarello's hand through his arm and escorted him into the hotel. "Good morning!" he said in English thick with the accent he remembered the instructors' servants in Schlo Rosenkreuz as possessing. He could not say with any conviction that he knew what a Romanian accent might sound like, but he was certain that the clerk behind the desk in the hotel could not distinguish a Romanian accent from that used by maidservants who had spoken German all their lives. "My name is Chitul, and this is my employer, Mr Dorfmann. We wish to take rooms." Quickly and easily he arranged for two rooms in their names, and expressed a wish that all meals should be taken in their rooms rather than in the public dining rooms. "Mr Dorfmann, being blind, does not wish to attract the pity of the other guests," explained Schuldig politely, feeling gleeful at the solicitous expression with which this information was greeted. He supervised the moving of the luggage to their rooms, carefully removing from the footmen's minds the fact that it was so very heavy. At last they were alone in their adjoining rooms, a breakfast laid out for them. Schuldig made a start on buttering toast and cutting up the sausages for Farfarello before the maid had quite closed the door, then slumped down once she had gone, stuffing half a sausage into his mouth and washing it down with a cup of strong tea. "Oh, this is heavenly!" he cried. "Women are useful for something, Farfarello!"

Farfarello could only nod, being himself occupied in eating as fast as ever he could. When they were finished their meal - a task completed in far less time than civilised behaviour would allow - he looked over at Schuldig. "What shall we do now?" he asked.

"Now," said Schuldig, "I shall sally forth and buy such items as will make you look more convincingly blind, while you shall stay here and rest. Meditate on your sins, for all I care, just don't go out and draw attention to yourself." With no further ado he rose, washed his face at the washstand, smoothed his hair down with the tiniest of frowns, picked up his hat and left. Farfarello sighed, and lay down to sleep.

Schuldig strolled through the streets, trying not to catch glimpses of himself in the shop windows as he went by. He adjusted his hat and walked on till he found a shop offering, amongst many other wares, spectacles. Going in, he perused the merchandise until thee shopkeeper finally noticed him.

"Good morning, sir!" said the shopkeeper. "How may I help you?"

"Good morning," said Schuldig, modulating his voice so that his accent in English was as light as he could make it. "I am looking for spectacles of plain, darkened glass. Do you have such a thing? It is so fearfully bright here, and I cannot properly read outdoors."

"Many people find they have that very problem, sir," said the shopkeeper, producing a tray of darkened glass spectacles. "Would any of these be of use to you?"

Schuldig examined them, going so far as to try on some pairs to further his story that they were for his own use rather than that of another person. At length he selected a pair that were both very dark and that had lenses somewhat larger than the others he had examined, thinking that they would cover more of Farfarello's face and thus render his scars less of a talking point. This purchase effected, he strolled on, entering another shop where he bought a plain, yet high quality cane, so that Farfarello could practice tapping his way around their rooms. Then, fearing what might happen if the young Irishman was left to his own devices for too long, he strolled back to the hotel. Finding his friend asleep, Schuldig took himself to his own bed, content in the knowledge that he had made a good start on keeping them safe and unremarkable for their stay in the city.

  


* * *

  
Crawford looked in approval at the rooms he had taken in the second hotel to which he and Nagi had travelled. The rooms, while not over large, were exactly as he thought a returning missionary and his young son would require. Nagi had been downcast at the sight of his smaller room and voiced a wish that they could at least have interconnecting accommodation. Crawford was pleased that after the original complaint the boy had not attempted to argue and had meekly arranged the few personal possessions he had brought to the city in his own room, acknowledging the need to look as conventional as they might. Now he sat on the edge of Crawford's bed, waiting for them to go into the city and purchase clothing and other necessities of civilised life.

"Are you ready?" said Crawford, picking up his hat.

"Yes," said Nagi, standing quickly. "Are you _sure_ we need to go shopping?" he continued. "What if the soldiers --"

"I haven't seen any such difficulty," said Crawford calmly. "Come along."

Nagi looked reluctantly about the room, as if wondering how he could keep them safely indoors, but came to Crawford's side obediently. "What if you can't sleep properly tonight?" he asked suddenly. "Or what if I have a nightmare?"

Crawford settled Nagi's hat upon his head. "If you have a nightmare," he said, "You can come in with me. We don't want you scaring other people or accidentally breaking something." He smiled at Nagi's face. " _If_ you have a nightmare. Although you are pretending to be younger than you really are you'll still be seen as too old to need to sleep with another person for comfort!"

"All right," said Nagi, accompanying him from the room. They journeyed out into the streets, and soon were being measured for new clothes. The tailor, a Martian who was by no means as tall as most men of his race, was quiet and quick in his work, writing down a series of numbers and letters in a mixture of English and his own tongue, and promising that the work should be finished as quickly as possible. Crawford nodded in approval, and took Nagi next to a shoemaker's, where the lad patiently endured yet more measuring. He felt glad he had taken Nagi with him, for he well knew that if the lad had been with Schuldig he would have complained loudly and constantly at such boredom, and Schuldig, giving in to youthful impulse, would no doubt have come up with some silly scheme to amuse them both and would not have cared too much for the attention it would draw. Crawford kept the polite smile on his face as his feet were measured in turn, although in truth he felt melancholic at the thought of a fortnight without sight of his friend, for in all the years they had been together they had never been parted for so long. Putting such thoughts from his mind with the stern injunction to himself to be a man and not dwell on things he could not change, Crawford took Nagi to a final shop where they purchased luggage in which they would put their new clothing, and ordered it delivered to the hotel. Then they repaired to a restaurant, as both of them felt the need for luncheon.

At the establishment chosen, a modest restaurant suited to their assumed status, the waiter looked with some concern at Nagi, saying, "This young gentleman --"

"My son," said Crawford firmly, placing a protective hand upon Nagi's shoulder.

"Of course, sir," said the waiter, leading them to a table without further ado.

"He is scandalised at the thought of you having an Oriental boy," said Nagi in low and angry Japanese, glaring at the tablecloth. "We have been seated at this far table so that we do not offend other patrons!"

"Yes, but don't make a fuss," said Crawford quietly in that same tongue. "We do not wish to draw attention to ourselves." Seeing the annoyance that remained in Nagi's eyes and remembering the unhappiness and anger that Micah had felt, he leaned forwards, resting his hand on Nagi's smaller one. "They are stupid," he said fervently. "Men of sense do not distinguish between people on the basis of their race. I would never --"

"Of course not!" said Nagi fiercely. The annoyance died from his expression and he went on, more sadly, "I just wish more people were like you and Schuldig and Farfarello, that's all."

"I can't give you that," said Crawford. "I can only tell you that _we_ shall never be so stupid. I promise you, Nagi." He pushed the menu gently over to the lad. "Come on, don't be sad. They're all fools, but we are not. I know you find it hard at times, but you can learn to turn it to your advantage. Let's have our lunch, and then we'll do whatever you like."

Nagi nodded, and thereafter took pleasure in calling the waiter over more than once with requests for more lemonade and a second helping of dessert, smiling at the man's politeness.

  


* * *

  
"If," said Farfarello, "you leave me in this room for one more day I shall not be held responsible for anything I might do." He smiled at Schuldig's expression sweetly. "I want to go out, Schuldig," he said. "Why do you think you can leave me here to rot?"

"You're meant to be blind," said Schuldig. "A blind man has little reason to wander round the city, exclaiming at the sights! We went walking in the hotel garden just yesterday."

"Oh," said Farfarello. "A stroll arm-in-arm and then me sitting with a blanket across my knees while you read the paper! You didn't even read out anything interesting." He scowled, thinking hard about all the churches he would have to visit if he became any more bored. Schuldig threw his eyes up to heaven and Farfarello grinned, triumphant.

"Very well," said Schuldig. "I must arrange our tickets. If you really must come along, I suppose it will be all right."

Farfarello whistled tunelessly, pulling on his jacket at once and catching up his hat. "Let us be off, my dear Chitul!" he cried.

"At once, Herr Dorfmann," said Schuldig, offering him his arm. "Don't forget your cane, you idiot! Ow!" he added, being hit across the shins with that very item.

Farfarello leant heavily on Schuldig's arm as they descended the stairs, taking care to never seem to have his gaze focused on anything. The darkened glasses still felt most queer to him, though he could not deny they helped to change his appearance. Once they stood outside the hotel he felt glad of them, the brightness of the day being dulled somewhat to his gaze. Schuldig summoned a cab, drawn on the streets on New London not by a horse but by one of the native beasts, and soon they had been whisked off to the offices of the Cunard shipping line.

"Good morning!" said Schuldig gaily in his affected accent. "My employer and I seek passage back to Earth. The next departure will be at the end of this month, I believe? A fast ship, I hope!"

"Yes, sir," said the young man behind the desk. "There is a scheduled departure in two weeks time -- or if you wished to wait for another seven weeks you might take passage aboard the _Servia_ , which is the very fastest ship of the line."

Farfarello held his breath, pretending he did not speak English. Schuldig had been very enamoured of the luxury of the _Servia_ on the journey outwards, and might think it more inconspicuous if their little group did not travel on the same vessel. Then he thought how ridiculous it was to consider Schuldig wishing to be parted from Crawford for so long, even as Schuldig shook his head and inquired after the cost of passage on the first available ship. Farfarello smiled politely when he heard his assumed name mentioned and repeated by the young man, saying in his mildest tones and in the German tongue, "I'm afraid I do not speak English." Thereafter he was ignored, though he could tell that what could be seen of his scars had excited some curiosity. Schuldig produced both of the false passports and soon he had received tickets for the trip. After a few moments more in which Schuldig engaged the man in what seemed to Farfarello like pointless conversation, they went back outside.

"Bah," said Schuldig. "Eighty pounds apiece? That is more expensive than a second-class passage to Mars, surely?"

"People desperate for a return to civilisation will pay anything," said Farfarello. "Let's not go back to the hotel just yet," he continued, "I like being out in the breeze."

"All right," said Schuldig, taking his arm and walking slowly down the street. "Crawford was there yesterday, reserving a cabin with his tickets."

"Ah, so that is why you spent time talking to him," said Farfarello. "He noticed nothing untoward about Crawford, I should hope?"

"No," said Schuldig simply, leading him on quietly.

Feeling that his friend needed cheering, Farfarello insisted they sit in the sun, and that Schuldig tell him the ridiculous things passers-by were thinking. They passed a pleasant hour in this way, made more entertaining by Schuldig whispering suggestions of inappropriate behaviour into the minds of those that walked past. Then, thoroughly cheered and feeling they had achieved an important goal with the purchase of the tickets, they climbed into a cab and returned to the hotel for luncheon.

  


* * *

  
Nagi sat in the sitting room of the hotel, quietly reading the novel Crawford had purchased for him while Crawford read through the newspaper beside him. The book was not as engrossing to him as those others of Mr Collins' work he had read, but he persevered, thinking it would at least please Crawford to see such attention paid to his gift. He ruthlessly quashed down the thought that Schuldig, as an avid reader of novels himself, would have found a more exciting tome. He read on, half his attention on the page, half on Crawford, hoping that some other activity might be proposed.

"Good Heavens! Is that really suitable for a child?"

Doing his best not to scowl, Nagi looked up at the lady who had insisted on interrupting Crawford and his pleasant, quiet times together more than once. He did not know why she insisted on such a course of action, as he did his very best to speak no more than a few words at a time to her, while Crawford would quickly find some reason for both of them to leave her company.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Prendergast," said Crawford politely. "He enjoyed other books by Mr Collins - didn't you, Peter?"

"Yes," said Nagi, holding his book protectively to himself.

"But _The New Magdalen_!" said Mrs Prendergast. "Surely no child should read such a thing!" She smiled hesitantly, saying, "You cannot think it proper, surely, Mr Crawford?"

Crawford held out his hand, waiting until Nagi unwillingly put the book in it. He leafed through it, pausing now and then. "Perhaps not," he said, closing the book. "It seems rather unlike the stories of Mr Collins you enjoyed before, Peter."

Nagi tried not to glare at Mrs Prendergast, feeling it quite unfair that - though he had indeed not been enjoying the novel as much as he had hoped - she should thus rob him of his amusements. "It's all right, Father," he said politely. "I still have _Lady Audley's Secret_ in my room, I haven't even started it." Mrs Prendergast blanched and Nagi decided he should start this second novel as soon as ever he could.

"Oh!" she cried, "Mr Crawford, you mustn't let him read such wicked things! They're not good for boys!"

Nagi fixed his eyes upon the floor, feeling his annoyance ready to overflow. Mrs Prendergast was too friendly, in his estimation, and too given to exclaiming over his prettiness and the colour of his eyes and far too given to gently remonstrating with him when he, as she phrased it, slipped into a charming yet incorrect Oriental pronunciation. He wished Crawford would kill her.

"Peter," said Crawford. "Why don't you go outside and play?"

Nagi realised he was clenching his fists and that he must look very angry. "Yes," he said, "thank you, Father." He walked away politely, listening to Crawford explaining that since his dear wife had passed away poor Peter had been very sad. "Oh," thought Nagi, "at least she will not expect me to smile at her from now on." He went outside and hid himself in an out of the way corner where he might without discovery disconsolately make pebbles heap themselves up into diverting shapes. After what seemed to him an age a shadow fell across him.

"There you are," said Crawford. "Let's go for a walk before we must get ready for dinner. Don't worry, I have your book quite safe!"

"What a fool that woman is!" said Nagi in his native tongue. "I don't know why she comes to annoy us so often!"

"Don't you?" answered Crawford in that same language. "When she speaks so often of how she supposes her late husband to have been the same age as me, how she is unhappy on Mars without him and how she would have liked a nice boy like you for her very own -- and," he continued, grinning suddenly so that his beard could not disguise his youth, "how it is her delicately understated opinion - even to herself! - that a widower with a young son must surely see that any boy needs another mother?" He laughed as Nagi's expression turned from incomprehension to horror.

"Oh!" cried Nagi, thinking of how Mrs Prendergast had told him how nice he looked in his new clothes, how she tried almost every time she saw him to neaten his hair and how she had, that very morning, wiped a spot of jam from his cheek with her handkerchief. "Crawford, you cannot mean to --"

"Shh," said Crawford laughing. "You know you must call me 'Father'. No, of course not, but there is no need to make her an enemy by rudeness. She no doubt would gossip of my nastiness to friends, who could spread the news of our stay here further. Be quiet if you cannot be polite for the last few days, Nagi. She'll decide soon enough that loneliness and a desire to leave Mars are not strong enough reasons to wish for anything further - and if we are kind she will remember us happily and willingly confuse any questioners with her faith in us."

Nagi blew his cheeks out in a sigh of relief. "I'm glad, she is such a fool!"

Crawford nodded cheerfully. "Well, as long as society insists on making half the human race fools, we can use them to our advantage," he said. A wide smile crossed his face again as he turned away as if to hide his amusement from Nagi.

"What is it?" said Nagi suspiciously. "Are you laughing at me?"

"A little," admitted Crawford. "You still look so very shocked! In the main, however, I am imagining Schuldig's face if we should turn up with her in tow." He gently touched his fingers to Nagi's cheek, saying, "You needn't worry, you are all my family. I don't need anyone else."

Nagi blinked hard, feeling sudden sadness from his older friend. "I'm sorry about Micah," he whispered, and Crawford nodded solemnly.

"So am I."

"Oh," said Nagi, thinking he would be overcome if Crawford should weep, and hoping he might spare his friend that embarrassment. "Will we be able to talk to Schuldig and Farfarello when we are on the ship?"

"We will make the acquaintance of Messers Dorfmann and Chitul once we are underway, and will talk to them as often as we wish," promised Crawford. "Did you think we would ignore each other all the way back to Earth?"

"It's just --" said Nagi. "It's just that I think I'll probably be sick again, and you won't be able to ask Schuldig to take care of me, will you?"

" _I_ will take care of you," said Crawford. "I have few of the pills you took before left, it's true, but I've bought laudanum and other medications. It will be all right, you needn't worry." He cast an arm about Nagi's shoulders as they strolled along. "We will have as pleasant a voyage as we might, you will be able to show Schuldig the progress you have made in your reading, and I will plan out our next course of action. Don't worry about anything, Nagi. We will all work together and we will prevail."

Nagi smiled to himself, feeling that if Crawford made assurances nothing could possibly go wrong. He leant against Crawford's side, feeling cheered and safe, as they continued their walk in friendly silence.

  


* * *

  
"If I look at you for one second longer I shall fall into madness and kill everyone in the hotel," said Schuldig in polite and mild-seeming German as he walked, arm in arm, around the garden's of that establishment with Farfarello.

"You've had more opportunity for amusement than I," said Farfarello with utter truthfulness. "I have been cooped up in our rooms for day after day - I wish you hadn't said we wouldn't eat in the dining room." He sighed, going on, "I know it helps to maintain the dissimulation, but it is very boring. You could at least bring in some books I would find interesting!"

"I bought two novels last week!" said Schuldig.

"When one has nothing to do but read, that is not enough," said Farfarello. "And your taste is execrable. I should prefer works of philosophy."

"To excite and infuriate you?" said Schuldig. "I think not, Herr Dorfmann. You will have to make do with heiresses and ghosts for a while yet!" He guided Farfarello over to a large and fragrant rosebush. "Here, pretend to enjoy the fragrance. How wasteful these people are! It must take so much water to keep these flowers as they are."

"You would not have cared about that when we first arrived," said Farfarello, leaning forward at Schuldig's direction and awkwardly touching the soft petals.

"I have come to appreciate water in a whole new way since we have been on Mars," said Schuldig. "See here, I really must get out into the city for some diversion. If I must endure the charitable thoughts the guests and staff of this hotel entertain every time they see us together I really will murder them."

"Oh, very well," grumbled Farfarello. "Bring me back a nice treat from your day in the city, just one priest will do." He tried not to laugh at the images Schuldig slid into his mind.

"Let's get you back to your room, it's time for your nap," said Schuldig solicitously, and hurried them back indoors. Soon he was trotting down the stairs once more, his mood much lifted. He raised his hat to a young lady as he left, enjoying her admiration of his hair. Then he was free from his supposed duties and out among fresh minds, and people unfamiliar to his eyes. At first he simply wandered up and down, letting himself listen to the intimate hopes and fears of those he passed, then he decided to patronise a restaurant and to have a late lunch that was, as he fervently hoped, more interesting than the food served in the hotel. "How Crawford would laugh, to see me eat two luncheons in one day!" he thought. "I can afford it, we have all grown so damnedly thin over the last weeks." He frowned into his glass of water, thinking it did not suit Crawford to be so gaunt, and wishing he had his friend's company at that very moment. "Don't be such a child!" he inwardly mocked himself. "You will survive his absence perfectly well." The food, when it came, diverted him from such thoughts and he enjoyed it to the very last mouthful, complimenting the _chef's_ skill to the waiter, saying he had not tasted lamb as fine in all his stay on Mars. Feeling satisfied and sleepy, he strolled to one of the fine parks and sat upon a bench regarding the world with benevolence. At last he roused himself, thinking he should go back before it was Farfarello's thought to feel the urge to murder.

Stopping suddenly to enjoy the sight of some youthful and idiotic men blatantly stealing fruit from a native vendor and laughing at her outrage, Schuldig nearly caused the person behind him to run into him.

"I do apologise," he said with gay insincerity as the man stepped into the road to make his way around him.

The man, a short fellow in military attire, froze and turned. "Mr Schuldig!" he said in astonishment, and opened his mouth to draw breath to call out. " _Mr Br--_ "

With an oath, Schuldig clapped his hand across the young soldier's mouth and dragged him into the mouth of a laneway, all the time hissing, "Silence! You _shall not_ speak, do you hear me?" He cursed as the soldier, whom he now recognised as one of the two that had come to question him after Farfarello's murderous spree, showed he did not consider himself bound to gentlemanly ways of fighting, and kicked him hard before landing a solid blow to the side of Schuldig's head. Schuldig, having no pretensions to gentlemanly behaviour in _any_ way, slammed the man's head back against the wall and brought a knee up sharply, leaving him pale and gasping. "Listen to me, you damned little fool," he said, forcing the young soldier to look him in the face. "You did not see me. You gave up all hope of us when we fled into the desert. We died there, that is the only sensible thing to think." The soldier struggled and wanted to call out, to alert his companion - Schuldig cursed; more to deal with - and fixed in his mind the fact that he had seen a wanted man. Schuldig snarled at his misfortune and the chance that others would find him here and overwhelmed his captive, taking his mind by force. All sense left the young man's face and he slumped against Schuldig. "Better," said Schuldig in horrible satisfaction, supporting him, his hand curled gently about the soldier's neck. "Much better. You did not see me. You last saw us in the desert. You had nothing on your mind this day other than wishing to have free time with your friends." Sensing last attempts to be free of him, he whispered in the soldier's ear, "You are making me do this to you, you should not have fought. Submit. Submit or I'll leave you as an idiot." The approach of another mind, one bent on finding where his captive had suddenly gone, alerted Schuldig to the fact that he could not waste time in tormenting his prisoner. "Lucky boy," he said softly. "I have not had anyone to play with for some time -- you are getting away lightly. Wake up!" He snapped his fingers under the soldier's nose and shoved him roughly towards the street. Then he snatched up his hat and walked quickly in the opposite direction, hearing behind him someone call out the soldier's name. Gedge. Yes, thought Schuldig, that had been the name of the little fool who came to his rooms all that time before. He walked as fast as he could without exciting attention, and sat at last in a public house, scarce noticing the beer he had ordered.

"Oh," he thought in agitation, "I must tell Crawford --" He stopped, cursing himself for a fool. He did not know where Crawford and Nagi were staying and could not find even such familiar minds in the great press of the city upon his thoughts. "No," he thought, glaring fearsomely at the table top. "Leave them be, do not seek them out and give people cause to remember you. You fool, all you want is your friend's comfort! How weak you are!" He forced himself to calm, telling himself that he had had enough time with Gedge, that the young soldier would not remember their encounter. "I should have killed him," he muttered in German, then shook his head in disgust at his own foolishness, for such an action would have certainly caused an investigation to begin. At last, he rose and walked away, back to his hotel, carefully observing the persons whom he passed, and telling himself that they would face no difficulties in boarding the ship, and that he was not in any way to blame for a mere accident of fate.

  


* * *

  
"Is everything going to be all right?" asked Nagi as Crawford finished tying his tie and looked around the room a final time to ensure nothing had been left behind.

"Yes," said Crawford patiently. "I've seen no complications as yet. Are you ready?"

"Yes," said Nagi, whose bags had been packed securely since the previous morning. "Do you think Schuldig and Farfarello are all right?"

"Stop worrying," said Crawford with a little smile. "Now, let's get downstairs and make our _adieus_." He ushered Nagi out and watched approvingly as the lad quickly gathered up his belongings and followed him down the stairs. Nagi stood quietly, watching Crawford settle their accounts with the desk clerk, glad he had arranged for their chests of luggage to be taken to the ship on the previous day, for the lad felt they would be all too conspicuous if accompanied through the streets by chests of treasure. "Oh," he thought, "I hope they have not been stolen!"

"You're leaving today, Peter?" came a voice from behind him.

Nagi fixed a polite smile upon his face that he thought Crawford could only approve and turned about. "Yes, Mrs Prendergast," he said. "My father is just finishing with our preparations."

"It's a long journey," said Mrs Prendergast quietly. "I hope you will be a good boy for your father." She looked briefly over to where Crawford stood, then smiled with warmth at Nagi. "I'm glad to see he and you feel able now to return home. Running from sadness does nothing but to prolong one's unhappiness. I know you must miss your dear Mama very much."

Nagi felt, to his shame, tears rise from nowhere. He dashed at his eyes and stared down at his shoes. "Yes," he said unhappily.

She patted his head gently. "You are a good boy," she said. Then, as Crawford came over added, "Mr Crawford, allow me to wish you a safe and comfortable journey home."

"Thank you," said Crawford politely. "Have you decided if you will return to Earth?"

"I shall stay here," she replied with determination. "I have taken a position in a school for native girls and girls of the working classes. Perhaps I may do some good there. I do not think I would do anyone any good by fleeing from where we --" she paused, "from where I have decided to make a new life."

Crawford smiled, as if he did not consider her as weak as he thought most people. "Good," he said. "Goodbye, Mrs Prendergast. I'm sure you will do very well here. Peter, it's time to go." He steered Nagi away, squeezing his shoulder companionably. "Are you all right?" he asked when they were seated in the cab.

"Yes," said Nagi, leaning against him, glad to have such a constant in his life. "Yes, I'm all right." He was quiet for the rest of the time it took to reach the ship, then he huddled back against Crawford. "Crawford!" he said, "There are soldiers!"

Crawford's arm tightened about him. "You're going to be all right," he said. "Perhaps they always have soldiers stationed here, perhaps there is some other reason. Don't worry."

"Shall _you_ be all right?" asked Nagi wildly. "If they touch you, I'll kill them!"

"Shh," said Crawford. "Don't attract attention. We're going to get out of the cab and make our way on-board. I haven't seen trouble."

Nagi clutched his hand tightly. What if Crawford's visions had led him astray? What if he put Nagi aboard and was taken away? He stared into his friend's face as if to memorise it. Crawford gently disengaged his grip and climbed out, handing the fare to the cab driver. With a feeling of facing his own execution, Nagi crept out to stand at Crawford's side, the handle of his small case clenched tight in his fist.

"Why are you afraid? You're just a missionary's little son," said Crawford. "Nobody is looking for us." He picked up his suitcase, took Nagi's hand in his other hand and strode towards the offices to present their tickets and passports to the pursers.

"Thank you, Mr Crawford," said the purser, handing the papers back. He winked at Nagi. "Your lad's afraid of flying, is he?"

"He felt a little queer on the journey out," said Crawford easily. "He'll be fine."

"Don't you worry, lad," said the purser kindly. "You get used to it in time. Everything's in order, Mr Crawford. Please proceed to board as soon as you can."

Crawford nodded politely and walked in the direction he had indicated, still keeping hold of Nagi's hand. They walked upstairs quickly, and still unmolested, entered into a roped-off area from which they exited the building, up the gangplank and on to the etherflyer. Nagi kept a tight hold on Crawford's hand as he was led along in search of a steward who might show them to their cabin. Only when the man had left them in a cabin far less luxurious than the accommodation which Crawford and Schuldig had shared on the outbound journey could Nagi relax enough to let go and to take what seemed to him his first proper breath since he had stepped from the cab.

"You're doing well," said Crawford, pleased. "Now, put the case away, nice and safely. Good lad." He grinned cheerfully and swung Nagi around, much to the boy's surprise. "You see? I told you!" Laughing, he continued, "Let's find a place at the rails, to watch the ground recede."

They made their way back through the corridors, seeking a good place at the rails that should, after the etherflyer had ascended far enough, be forbidden to all passengers until journey's end. As they reached their goal a young man guiding a gentleman who seemed older and more frail passed them in the opposite direction.

"Excuse me," he said politely, and Nagi started, for Schuldig and Farfarello had both changed even their gait, and he had not until that moment recognised them.

"I do beg your pardon," said Crawford, drawing Nagi aside to let them pass, and then ushering him on. Nagi looked up at Crawford and saw a soft smile upon his face as if he were now relieved of a strain he had not admitted even to himself. At the same time he felt, as it were, a caress within his mind and hugged the happy feeling to himself with glee. By the time he and Crawford had gained a place at the rails overlook the crowd gathered to wave the ship off, he was smiling from ear to ear, wholly consumed in happy victory.

  


* * *

  
Private Gedge walked about ruminatively amidst the crowds that always gathered when a ship was due to leave for Earth, some of the people present wishing to bid farewell to friends and family leaving on the long voyage, others simply wishing to observe the spectacle of the great vessels taking flight. He wondered yet again what had drawn him here, wasting his off-duty time and that of his friends, whom he felt it might be difficult to recompense, should he fail to give a good reason for them all to give up a rare afternoon together. All he knew was that he had felt very queer indeed for the last two days, as if he were missing some important and vital piece of information, though try as he might to think what it could be, he gained no results save the most horrible of headaches. Lieutenant Bracy had told him he must have grown faint due to heat and exertion, but this, Gedge thought with some worry, could not be the case. Had he not grown used to the great heat of Mars? And now, here he was, off-duty, feeling that he should observe the etherflyer and the persons taking passage aboard her. "Oh," he thought in some annoyance, "if only the others had listened to me! We should have been down here all day, and there should have been more of us! We can't cover the area proper, not with only a handful of men!" He sighed as the gangplank was raised and the sirens sounded before the ship should raise itself from its moorings. Whatever had drawn him here was but a fancy, and now his friends should rib him for silliness and acting on mere feelings like a girl. He turned away, disgusted with himself.

" _Auf Wiedersehen_ , Private Gedge," whispered a voice, quite clear despite the great sound of the crowd, who cheered and waved. Gedge looked about, but no one seemed to have spoken to him, and the voice was, moreover, quiet and insinuating, and should have been quite inaudible in the noise of the throng. " _Nein, nein_ , up here," said the voice, maddeningly familiar, and Gedge found himself turning, not it seemed, of his own volition, to gaze up at the etherflyer as the great sirens sounded again and it lifted away from the ground. He looked at it in incomprehension, hearing all the while soft laughter that seemed to him to be almost inside his head. "No, _here_ ," whispered the voice, and Gedge found his gaze drawn to a spot on one of the rails where the passengers stood and waved. A gentleman standing there drew off his hat and waved it, revealing bright red hair. As Gedge frowned, the man replaced his hat and bowed , clearly bringing his heels together in a military fashion. The gentleman beside him laughed and slowly and mockingly crossed himself in the manner of the Catholic soldiers with whom Gedge was friends. Gedge's eyes widened as the laughter in his head grew more mocking, his eyes now unerringly finding, situated at a rail on a lower deck, a tall bespectacled man who touched the brim of his hat courteously, and a thin, Oriental boy who looked up at the man as if for reassurance, and then laughed, clinging on to his companion's side.

Gedge spun about, yelling, "It's them! Wilson! Fred! It's _them!_ It's them murderers!" The noise of the crowd was too great, however, and no one could hear him. He fought his way through till he could grasp the sleeve of one of his friends, crying, "Fred! Stop messin' with yer cigarette and help me find an orficer! We've got to stop the etherflyer! They're gettin' away!"

"Stop the etherflyer?" said his friend in astonishment. "How?" He pointed upwards. "It's goin', Bill. We'd have ter get the Colonel to stop it, and I don't know 'ow he could."

"Them _murderers_ are on it!" shouted Gedge, but Fred just shook his head, cupping a hand by his ear to indicate he could hardly hear this impassioned cry.

Gedge turned about again, despairing, and looked up as the great ship rose higher and higher, out of reach of all messages, bearing with it both the innocents aboard and the guilty, away from justice, away from vengeance, away from Mars. The sunlight glinted from its sides, and it gained speed, becoming no more than a child's toy in the far distance, while below it the red, dry soil of Mars lay forsaken and abandoned for the bright green promise of Earth and all its glories.

  


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_FIN_   



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